Spirit
by black eagle
Summary: The story of a wild young Thoroughbred-mustang, his joy and pain, adventures and escapades...and his fight to stay free and return home with a beautiful silver filly ... ...From POV of a horse...pls R&R!
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

   It has been years since the Black first raced and died, decades since Satan and Bonfire were born…Other horses have swept the track, bringing glory to their own stables, and the Black's fame has slowly faded and his name was forgotten by all but the few who remembered the great Arabian stallion and his offspring…

   At last, all that remained of the Black's line was a black filly with a white star. The filly ran away from her human owners and joined a mustang herd.

   This is the story of one of the filly's foals, and its fight for freedom…


	2. The birth

Disclaimer: (Sorry I forgot to put this in last time.) I don't own the Black, Satan or Bonfire; Walter Farley does and I'm obviously not Walter Farley.

**Chapter 1: The Birth**

     I opened my eyes for the first time in my life and blinked. I was lying on something tickly. Something warm and wet was moving over my face, licking me. The world, at least what part of it that I could see, looked like swirling mist. I blinked again and everything came into sharper focus. That something that was licking me was also soft and pink. It had now moved on to my body, still licking, cleaning the birth sac off me. It belonged to a black face dark as night, with a white star on its forehead. That was the first memory I had of my mother. 

    When she finished cleaning me, I struggled up and stood on shaky legs. When I tried to take a step, my knees wobbled and buckled, throwing me forward, onto the ground. My mother, getting impatient, walked off. I became frantic. I stood up and attempted to run. My feet slid in four different directions and I flew head over heels. I whinnied and whinnied but my mother never answered. I was desperate. I HAD to get to my mother. The next thing I knew, I was up and running. To my relief, she was there, just out of sight from where I had lain, waiting for me. When I finally reached her side, I saw that she was smiling. "You know, that always works." she chuckled. " What works?" I asked. "That. My getting up and leaving you there. It worked with your brothers, it worked with your sister, and now it worked with you. That always made them get to their feet much earlier than all the other foals after their births." With that, she turned and trotted off to get a drink of water, me bouncing along by her side.

    It wasn't dawn yet when we returned to the meadow where I was born. My mother dropped into a low, swinging walk, ambled over a little ways to the huddle of horses standing together (which I hadn't noticed until now), and lowered her head to graze. I nursed, then dropped onto the grass next to her and immediately started to doze.

  My mother woke me with a gentle nudge when the sun rose. "Come," she whickered, " It's time to meet the rest of the herd." 'The rest of the herd' turned out to be the mares and their foals, at least, the ones that had been born so far. Soft velvety noses; bay, gray, black, chestnut, and brown,  reached down and brushed my coat, testing, sniffing, memorizing my scent. There were exclamations of " Looks just like you!", "My goodness! Bella's colt…", "He's built for speed…"… they trailed off. My mother beamed.

There was a snort and the mares turned as one and drifted aside, making way for somebody moving towards us. I raised my head and saw a powerfully built, gleaming copper stallion with a narrow stripe standing before me, watching me closely. "That's your father," my mother murmured. He too lowered his head and brushed my coat with his nose. The stallion straightened up, whuffed noses with my mother, and trotted away, his muscles rippling under his shiny coat, flaxen mane and tail flowing even though there was no wind. That was it, surprisingly brief. The herd had accepted me.  

   When it was full morning, my mother turned from her grazing and looked at me with a critical eye. She began muttering observations, talking more to herself than to me. 

  "Let's see…what color are you? You're not dun, because duns have a much lighter and creamier color. And not chestnut either, because chestnuts are reddish gold, and anyway, your coat doesn't have a red hue. Now you can't _possibly_ be a bay, because bays have a red-brown color, and yours is deep gold. You might well have been a golden bay, but you have a black stripe down your back; bays don't have stripes on their backs, duns do, but you're obviously not a dun...well, we're just going to have to call you a dun… " She paused and frowned. "Black socks…a black star…black muzzle… black mane and tail, although where you got it, I don't know," she shook her head. "It might have come from your father side, as all my mother's line have always been black …" 

    "Colt…not big now… going to be big when grown… built for speed; that's from me, although you're father's pretty fast too …that might be where you'll get your stamina… Slightly tapered head, brown eyes… deep chest, well-sprung ribs; you'll have plenty of lung power…Nice, strong hindquarters, sloping shoulders…straight legs…" 

  She lifted her head and gazed at me with shining eyes." You don't look like a mustang at all…you could easily pass for a Thoroughbred. Although you have mustang feet, look…" She indicated her own feet, which, compared to mine, looked small and neat, almost like saucers, while mine, even though I was still a newborn, was already almost the same size as hers." And I haven't given you a name yet…" She trailed off, getting a dreamy look in her eyes.

   " 'Sun' sounds too plain a name for you…even though your coat is gold …what about Big Foot?" She chuckled when she saw my look. " No, Big Foot won't do … Star's already taken…Fire ? No…Rain? Can't be, that's for fillies…what _am_ I going to call you?' she asked, sounding exasperated. 

"I didn't have this trouble with the other foals…"She thought some more.

"Ah…yes…a good enough name…not taken yet…yes, that'll do."

My mother had named me Spirit.

   The rest of the day passed, and aside from another foal being born, nothing much else happened. Tired from last night, my mother grazed and rested, sometimes trotting over to the stream that ran in our meadow and getting a drink, but otherwise, she didn't mingle with the other mares, and kept a distance away from the main herd.  

   The mare who had also foaled came over with her foal to join us. She was a bright chestnut, and her foal a light dapple-gray colt, with a silver mane and tail. Our mothers spent the day talking, and we foals spent the day hiding from each other. That night, I curled up beside my mother and fell asleep, warm, well-fed and content. 

   As the days passed, my awkwardness vanished and my clumsiness dissolved. The wobbly legs and buckly knees were gone. I no longer had any trouble standing up, and I didn't fall after every single step. After a few days, I learned to keep my balance and became much more sure-footed. I also became bolder. When we were first born, the other colt, and I stuck to our mothers' sides like leeches. We went wherever they went, and whenever anyone approached, we would either run in the opposite direction and use our mothers as shields, or hide underneath their bellies and peer up at the stranger. Now, however, I found myself daring to venture a little further from my mother, going to sniff something interesting, or explore. Each time I did it, I strayed further and further, until I became confident enough not to run whenever a new face showed up. The chestnut mare who had foaled the same day as my mother and her dapple-gray colt were no longer new faces; the mare's name was Golden, and her colt was called Thunder.

    One warm spring day, not long after our births, when we had been fed and there was nothing else to do, we began to wander off while our mothers were talking. We had already reached the edge of the meadow, where the trees started and were sniffing at the ground when we heard hooves. We looked up at the same time, and found ourselves face to face with a furious bay mare who had her teeth bared and was glaring at us. "Well, well, well," she snarled, " What are you doing here?" A copper filly appeared behind her, and peered at us. Before we could open our mouths to answer, the bay mare turned to Thunder, and began to baby-talk him. " Twying to sneak off aren't we? Two widdle baby colts, twying to get intwo twouble." She rounded on me, her teeth gleaming. "Well I could just-" "That's enough, Reva." came my mother's voice.  She was standing beside me (I had no idea how), and a good distance away, I could see Thunder's mother looking anxious, but not daring to get close to the bad-tempered bay mare. " Come on, you two." My mother herded us off, leaving the bay mare speechless with shock at her sudden appearance. Then, as we trotted away, we heard the bay mare recover, and mutter, under her breath, but still loud enough for us to hear, 

"outsider". My mother pretended she didn't hear anything when we looked questioningly at her. " That's Reva and her filly, Blaze. You'll want to be careful around them. Reva's usually nasty and unpleasant; she's always telling off all the other colts and fillies, except her own, and if she gets really mad, you'd better watch out for her hooves or her teeth. Blaze's not that bad, but she'll soon be like her mother." Golden came trotting up. "Thanks Bella," she whinnied gratefully. " You're the only one with guts enough to stand up to _her_, aside from Northlight of course." She threw a dark look over her shoulder, at the bay mare still standing there, seething with rage. My mother didn't say anything else until we reached the group of mares standing together. Golden and Thunder ambled off to visit with another mare. The moment they left, I pounced on my mother and nearly suffocated her with my questions.

 "Who is Northlight?" 

" Why was Reva so mad?"

" Has she always been that way?"

" Why did Gold-"  

"Slow down!" my mother interrupted, tossing her mane in annoyance. "Northlight. That's the copper stallion who came the morning you were born. He's always around, though you don't get to see him much. I don't know why Reva's that nasty, but she's always been that way from the time she came. That was last spring …Northlight got her along with two other mares when he defeated Saber, the big, black stallion who's got his mares just over the ridge… Saber's been wanting to get her back ever since… I don't know what he sees in her, I hear he's just as nasty as she is…" Her nostrils flared, and she snorted. "Anyway, Saber's always getting in trouble with the other stallions, trying to steal their best mares. He's a bit of an idiot though…he was beaten by Northlight lots of times, and he's still coming around here, trying to pick a fight…you'd think that he would've learned to stay away after what happened to him two springs ago."

"What happened?" I asked.

 " Northlight beat him to a bloody pulp, hoping he'd have learned his lesson and never come back, but then, last winter, he turned up again, asking for trouble as usual…mind you, he's got a big, ugly scar right over his left eye you know…It was Northlight that gave him that scar…" Her eyes had a faraway look in them when she turned to me.

" And you!" Her eyes were suddenly blazing. " Wandering off without telling me! If you'd only wondered whether we worried or not! What if something had got you? You know perfectly well that there are coyotes and other-" she shuddered. "things out there…" She gave me a hard, reproachful, nudge that nearly sent me tumbling. 

   That day, I learned an important lesson, one of the many that my mother would be teaching me in the following days: not to stray off again without telling my mother where I went. I never did stray off again, until the time when I was weaned. And I didn't know it then, but it would be the cause of my downfall.


	3. Life with the herd

Disclaimer: The Black isn't mine, but everything else is.

**Chapter 2: The Herd**

     As the moons passed, day after golden day melted into the happiest time of my life. I had my mother, food, foals to play with, and the security of the herd. At my age, it was more than I could ever ask for.  As I grew, I came to know my mother and the other herd members much better. 

   All the foals had been born now, and there were eleven of us that year; five colts and six fillies, though all the mares said that this year had one of the lowest birthrates ever. Thunder and I were some of those born earliest that spring, so that by the time the little newborns were just taking their first steps, Thunder and I were already galloping and frolicking with the older foals, of which there were three. 

    One was Blaze. The second one was a dark brown colt with a mean pinched look about his head and an attitude to match; his name was Raha, and his dam was also one of the mares who had originally come from Saber's herd. Northlight wasn't his real father at all; his dam had been in foal when Northlight took her along with Reva and another mare last spring. Raha was the oldest of this year' colts, having been born at the end of December, while the rest of us were born in January or February. He also turned out to be the meanest, far meaner and nastier than Reva ever was.

   The last foal was a dainty paint filly. Her white coat looked like someone had poured caramel brown paint on it at random. Great big islands of brown swam against patches of shining white. She had a gleaming white triangle on her forehead, and a creamy mane and tail. Her mother had called her Nightingale. She was the prettiest of that year's fillies.

   At first, like us, the younger foals stayed by their mothers' sides; they were too shy and uneven-gaited to be playing with us, though sometimes, we could see their eyes gleaming with longing as they watched us play. But it didn't matter. In a few days, they became as surefooted as we were, and soon, eleven foals were romping all over the meadow, chasing each other, exploring the nearby woods to the east and the canyons and mesas to the west. We were never allowed to go up the mountains, and though there was a hill south of the meadow, we weren't permitted to go there either. 

   And I finally found out what my mother had meant when she said that I was 'built for speed'. We had been running a pasture race that day. Raha was in the lead. I was second, with my head at his flank and all the other foals spread out behind us. I had lengthened my stride, sure that he would accelerate with me, sure that this time, like all the other times, I would still come in second. Raha didn't go faster. I was out front. I had glanced back over my shoulder and saw Raha with this confused and shocked look on his face. That was when I crossed the stump we were using to mark the finish line. From then on, I was never beaten in a pasture race; it would either be a win or a tie. And wins came very often.

  I wasn't the oldest or the biggest of that year's foals, but I was the fastest. I could even outrun some of the yearlings. My mother said it was because of the Thoroughbred blood. And maybe, maybe, there was the offhand chance that it might be because of my Arabian blood, although we were so far down the family tree my mother doubted that it would have any effect on me. " Look at you," she had said. "Dun. And you must be- what? His great-great-great-great-grandson. There must have been at least five generations of thoroughbred blood mixed in." I had asked her about what she knew about the Arabian stallion of whom we were supposedly descended. She had glared at me the moment the word " supposedly" came out of my mouth, and I had immediately regretted saying it. It was true, she told me. Her mother had told her, and her mother's mother before that. The stallion was called The Black. He was very fast, and very famous. And he was also the main reason why she was black. That was about all she knew.

  This newfound speed came in good use when playing. And we played a lot.  

  Thunder and I were always together.  Maybe it was because our mothers were also always together, but Thunder and I became the best of friends. In the early morning, when the other foals were all still sleeping, we would sometimes go off under cover of darkness and sneak deep into the woods, where we would run and run, racing against each other, enjoying the feel of the wind as it whipped our manes off our necks, running just for the joy of it. We had already beaten a well-worn path winding through the trees, zigzagging around bushes, going through logs and other obstacles. The more daring, the more challenging the obstacle, the more we loved it.

      In the afternoons, my mother, who was undeniably as curious as I was, would sometimes lead us in the opposite direction, into the mountains in the west. Here, we discovered a whole new world of canyons, gorges, cliffs, and mesas.  Golden and Thunder sometimes came with us, and sometimes they didn't. If Thunder came, we would play hide-and-seek among the dusty, sandy cliffs while our mothers investigated the caves that lined the cliff faces. If Thunder didn't come, I would follow my mother, carefully putting each tiny hoof ahead of another, climbing up the narrow trail to the top, going around and peering over the cliff edge, then carefully making our way back down to the ground.  

    This way, Thunder and I became as surefooted as mountain goats. We came to know the terrain so well we could go around with our eyes closed and not stumble a single step. We knew where every single hole was; in rainy days, which patches of ground would hold us up so that we wouldn't slip and sink in the knee-deep mud, and which patches would give way beneath our hooves and subject us to a mudbath. We knew every single cliff and cave was, and even some of the valleys hidden so well deep in the mountains that no one ever knew of them except our mothers and us.

    Even though she wasn't the oldest, my mother was one of the wisest mares who had ever run with Northlight. She taught me many things. Important things. Lessons that could save my life, or prevent my capture. Lessons like, if we didn't want to leave any tracks, we should always put our hooves on stony ground, instead of on the soft dirt or on the grass where we would surely leave hoofprints. How to go about silently and without trace, so that when we reveal ourselves, we would give the impression of appearing out of thin air. If we wanted to lose someone on our trail, we should always go through water. "Do not go galloping straight into an open meadow; watch and listen under cover of the trees first for signs of danger or predators." She told me after we witnessed the attack of a coyote on a jackrabbit who had run so carelessly into the open prairie. It is best to see, and yet to remain unseen. When traveling, we should stay in camouflage as much as possible. The wind should always be in our faces, not in our backs. When we had to cross an open space, cross quickly and quietly, and remain alert. And the most important thing of all: my mother taught me to fear Man.

    "All two-leggeds are not to be trusted." She told me. Man would try to capture you; he would force a horrid metal thing in your mouth, control you, and use you for his own purposes. You would be kept a captive all your life; yes, you will be treated well; given good food and a nice stall, but you will still be a captive.

   "And the worse thing", she said, "is that when you try to escape, he will put a trance on you; he will lock his eyes on yours. You would find yourself frozen into place, as if paralyzed; you want to run away, but you just can't take your eyes off him, and all the while, he is inching closer and closer to you, with a rope in his hands. You will stand there, terrifies, wanting to run, but still unable to move, until the man is right beside you; he will throw the rope around your neck, and then and only then will the trance be broken. You will suddenly wake up, and find that you can move again, but now, you have a rope around your neck once more, and your last chance of freedom has been taken away." A shiver ran through her body. " I have seen it happen before…. But it would never happen to me." She would sigh and her eyes would get that dreamy, faraway look, as if she were remembering something. At that time, as a foal, I didn't take her too seriously, especially when she talked about Man. I wasn't even sure if any such creatures existed. And the idea of a two-legged being sitting on our backs was ridiculous. I would soon find out how wrong I was.

  Of course, after a few days of continuously asking questions, I finally got the story out of her, about where she had learned all this. And I finally knew why Reva had called her 'outsider'.

    My mother wasn't a mustang. She was an escaped Thoroughbred racehorse, with a bit of Arabian blood in her. 

  " My owners were all right, but they were hardly around. I was left alone with my trainer, and the other horses. I was an outcast from the start, just like my mother was. Most, but not all, Thoroughbreds are proud horses; very, very proud, temperamental, and easily insulted. Many of the other horses don't want anything to do with me, because I'm what they say a mixblood, even though its just a pinch of Arabian blood. Sure, they tolerated me; when we had to gallop on the same track, they wouldn't complain, and some of the others were even nice to me, but then, in the paddock, where we usually stayed, they wouldn't really let me join them. Once I started winning races though, the attitude changed. At first, they pretended they hadn't noticed, but then, some of the other horses began to get angry. They said that I, as a mixblood, had no right to keep on stealing the wins from them Thoroughbreds. By being a mixblood, and winning races, I was staining their breed's reputation." 

   "The Thoroughbred breed was supposed to be the fastest on earth. What would happen if the outside world had found out that the horse who had won the race wasn't really a pureblooded Thoroughbred? That would give them a bad look, and it simply wouldn't do, they said. They were insulted.  

   The cold ignorance started in the paddock. Whenever I approached them, they turned their backs on me. From there, it went to the point when I merely had to go near them and they would go on the offensive, using their teeth and hoofs to keep me away, as if I were something filthy." I could hear the bitterness in her voice. " I mean, it isn't my fault if I've got Arabian blood, is it?"

   "The humans put me a stall in a little building they called a stable instead. Even though there were other horses coming and going in and out of the stable, I was kept away from them.

   It got unbearable. I don't know what made me do it; maybe it was the Arabian in me, or maybe it was my own recklessness and rebellion, but I decided to run away. I knew I couldn't do it then, because the farm where we were kept was teeming with humans, and even if I did get away, I had to go miles and miles before I could leave civilization behind. I had no plan then, aside from the fact that I was going to escape. So I waited, and an opportunity came when we were being taken to a race far away, someplace the humans called 'The Coast'.  We were being taken on an airplane, but there was this bit of the journey in between that had to be made by a noisy electric contraption called a truck. In between, we would pass places where there were no humans; where, I had heard, wild horses still existed, running free across a wide green prairie. I decided I would get away then. The time came for my escape; everything was perfect; there was a thunderstorm that night that would cover my escape. But now, I had a huge problem; there were three other horses with me, and there was no way I could slip off without them knowing. So, even though they pretended not to hear at first, I persuaded them to join me, and together, we broke free of the two humans who were with us at that time, and galloped away under cover of darkness. When daylight came, the humans had a problem; they had a car, but in this rocky terrain, wheels were of no use in capturing horses. And they needed to get us again, and fast; we were racehorses and racehorses aren't exactly cheap. They needed strong, tough, stock horses that could carry them over the miles and miles of land, and getting stock horses at such short notice was nothing short of a miracle. They had to get to a town first."

  "The humans drove off. I was ecstatic. I was finally free. I lead the other horses, trotting and cantering miles a day, and we went deeper into the west. We came upon a mustang herd, but seeing and smelling us, they recognized us for what we were; fugitives; and refused to let us drink from their creek. We traveled further and found another herd; this one a small one, with only a colt and several fillies in it. They accepted us, and we settled in.  That colt was Northlight.

   And everyday, waking up to sunshine and green grass and fresh water, I was happier than I'd ever been. I thought the humans would just let us go; give up and never come looking for us. I had underestimated our value; I was wrong." 

   " They came back seven moons later, and somehow managed to track us to here.

  Now the herd was also in danger. One by one, the three horses were caught again. And finally, I was left, my companions taken, the mustangs now viewing me with distrust and suspicion. The humans came looking for me. I lead them away from the herd, and faked my own death by jumping over a cliff. I was sure I had them fooled, but I didn't think I had the trainer convinced; he was a shrewd guy and for a moment, I thought that he might still believe me to be alive. But he went away with the other two-leggeds, and I returned to the herd and convinced them that the humans were gone for good. They believed me, but as a precautionary move, Northlight led us deeper into the west, where no human had ever set foot. 

   And there, the herd grew. The grass was green, and there was fresh water. I was happy again. There were hard times, when there were famines and droughts, but I didn't care what happened to me as long as I remained free. Northlight and I grew even closer. I don't know why, but he valued me above all his other mares. 

  I became mustang, adopting their ways. But the small core of mares who were there when I fir st arrived still remembered me for who I was, and when Northlight won new mares, the news that I used to be a tame horse somehow got to them. There's no kind of hostility like there once had been between me and the Thoroughbreds, but now, an invisible, almost undetectable barrier sprung up between me and the other mares.

   Golden is one of the few who have really accepted me.

   Others, like Reva, became nasty. I didn't know why, until Golden told me one day that she, Reva, had been jealous of me because I was Northlight's favorite mare, and also the lead mare. Others resented my position.

    Reva has never forgotten that I came from the human world, and she rubs it in whenever she can."

     " Whenever I had a foal, I would teach it to fear humans; teach them the tricks of survival, because I knew that the humans would come again, and I wanted the foal to be forewarned. And this time, if we were caught, the two-leggeds would make sure that we would never be able to get away again.

     The winters passed, and I thought the humans were gone for good. I was wrong. They came back three springs ago, looking for me. I was obviously more valuable to my owners than I thought, and somehow, they knew that I wasn't dead. I narrowly escaped. Since then, they come back every summer, and always, always, they hunt for what they called ' the black mare who ran free.' "

   " You," she continued, " are my fourth foal. I ran away when I was three summers old, and this is now," she paused and thought. " my sixth spring with the herd."

   " All the other foals have either died or been killed," she continued sadly. 

"Datu, the first foal, grew to be a fine young stallion; he was killed by one of Saber's sons when they were fighting for territory. 

    Star grew into a stallion too, but when the humans came, they tried to capture him for something they call a ' ro-di-o' , whatever that means. They cornered him at a cliff and instead of being caught, he jumped the over cliff instead. We found him a few moons later, down a steep gorge, with his neck broken.

    Sunbeam was born during a drought. We were starving, so Northlight led us south towards our winter grazing grounds. The journey was hard. Most of the foals that year didn't make it, and neither did he. Coyotes ran him down, along with one of Golden's fillies.

   Snow, the last foal before you, was your only sister. She died eight moons after she was born. We never knew why. Pity really," she sighed. " She was one of the most beautiful fillies ever born to the herd."

    My mother turned her gaze on me. " And then, there was you. So far, you are the only dun ever born to me, and I think… to the herd.  And of all the foals ever birthed here, you are the only one who has shown signs of having inherited the best of both sides; the dam, and the sire."

    " The best," she continued softly, " of the east, and the west."

   As I grew, I learned to distinguish between right and wrong by my mother's actions. Good behavior earned an approving glance, and sometimes a smile. Bad behavior got something nasty. When I was still small, all I'd ever get for misbehaving was a hard nudge or a reproachful glare. As I grew older, the nudges gave way to sharp nips and severe scolding. And as I wasn't exactly a little angel, my mother was soon nipping me a lot. I once heard her complaining to Golden that her teeth would be wearing down soon enough because she was nipping me so often. " He's not exactly disobedient, but he's just so feisty and naughty that he's in trouble most of the time…" she would say to Golden sometimes, perfectly loud enough for me to hear, and Golden would always smile gently and say, " Don't worry, he'll soon outgrow it …"

  My mother wasn't the only one whom I got into trouble with.  Reva took to stalking me wheneverI left my mother's side, her eagle-sharp eyes fixed on me, ready to report whatever slight mistake I made to my mother. This was where my mother's hiding lessons came into use. I would go into a clump of bushes at the edge of the meadow in full view of her, then wait for her to come stomping in search of me. Then, while she raged and fumed and made a lot of noise stepping on dried twigs and swishing through bushes, I would slip around behind her, silent-footed and trackless, and double back to the meadow, where I could live in peace. Sometimes, when she couldn't find me, Reva would instead go looking for Thunder, venting her frustration on him. Because of this, he became even more than a close friend and a half-brother; he became an ally. Together, we would sometimes lead her on a wild chase, in and out, in and out, through the trees, sometimes letting her see just a glimpse of us, playing with her imagination, always watching her, but never caught ourselves. She finally got tired of it and reported back to my mother and Golden that Thunder and I were 'up to something no good' and that they had better keep a closer watch on us. My mother didn't say anything then, but I could have sworn that her eyes were twinkling. 

    The summer passed in a whirl of sunny days, starry nights, romping and playing in the meadow, and more exploring than ever.  During this time, Thunder and I were gradually weaning ourselves. When we were first born, we would watch our mothers cropping the thick grass and try to take a bite too, but our necks were too short and we soon gave up trying. Now, however, we had grown taller and more filled out on our mothers' rich milk, and we soon found out that we could also reach the grass. At first, grass tasted queer, but we soon got over it, spending more of our time grazing and nursing less and less from our mothers. Before we knew it, we were getting all our nourishment from the grass, and our mothers were gently kicking us away from them if we tried to take a drink, getting harsher and giving painful bites if we persisted. After a particularly hard kick that left my ribs sore for several days, I didn't bother to ask for milk anymore.

   I also found that, although at first, my mother was very worried whenever I left to get a drink of water or play hide and seek with the other foals in the forest, she grew much more lenient as I grew older, and wouldn't get as much angry or worried as she would have if I had been younger. When I nervously asked her about it, she said that as we were now weanlings, she knew that we already knew how to be careful and to take care of ourselves. After that, I grew more independent. 

   Autumn came. The humans who supposedly came during summer didn't. My mother hadn't noticed this until I pointed it out to her. " Maybe they got fed up and don't want to come back. Or maybe they came but couldn't find us." She had said hopefully. " But you be careful. This might still be some trick of their's. Don't leave any tracks and stay hidden; you never know what might happen." 

   " Mother is getting paranoid." I told Thunder later when we were grazing side by side. " Maybe she isn't." he whickered. " Being careful has kept her free for years."  I just snorted to show that I didn't really believe him.


	4. Men

Disclaimer: I don't own the Black…

Chapter 3

    By now, I was pretty much used to life with the herd. We were safe, and aside from a few minor disturbances, I was perfectly happy. And sadly, ignorant. 

   As my mother had said, even though Northlight was around, we rarely got to see him. Some days, we woke to find him grazing side by side with the herd, other days he would appear at dawn to check on us, then leave the rest of the day. I'd never really come to think of him as my father. He was just there… a guardian, someone to look up to. The herd was often left to my mother, who usually led the herd to water, or kept watch for predators. She would keep an eye on the weanlings while their mother's grazed, and especially on us colts.

    We fought a lot, especially us colts, though Thunder generally preferred to watch from the sidelines even if he fought well himself. Acting like small stallions, we would snort and paw the earth, prancing before our opponent with teeth bared, ears pinned back, and tail raised, hoping to intimidate our enemy. If that didn't work, we would charge. When we met, we would use our shoulders to ram each other out of balance. We would twist, kick, use our hooves, rear, swerve, dodge, do anything just to get our teeth on the crest of the neck of whoever was fighting with us. The moment we got our teeth on our opponent's necks, we would try and try to throw him to down on the ground. The moment he was on the ground, whoever was left standing would be the winner. But that rarely happened, because we were still too young and our bodies were still too light to do any real damage. One day though, I somehow managed it. And by luck, it was Raha whom I'd been fighting.

    As we fought, our experience grew. We learned to play to our strengths. My mother said it was good practice for our fighting when we grew up, because there would be a lot of fighting when we were grown; fighting for mares, and fighting for territory.

    The fillies were another matter. They were shy and quiet under the noses of the mares, but once they were with us away from their mothers, they became almost as mischievous and rambunctious as we were. 

   Most of the weanlings were generally friendly, most of the mares generally maternal. And possessive. They would look fondly at us playing, but the moment trouble came, they would rush teeth bared to the defense of their weanlings. Trouble came often, and I was almost always in the middle of it.  

    When we had been foals, everybody (all the foals, that is) hadn't been that goody-two-shoes, but they still generally obeyed their mothers. Now however, we were getting harder and harder to control, specially the colts, and particularly Raha. He took to bullying the younger colts and fillies, and bossing us older ones around. And somehow, I don't know why, he seemed to have picked me for his special target.

    When we were grazing, he would sometimes sneak up and nip or kick our rumps or sides. Then, when the nipped colt or filly would spin around to take their revenge, a mare, having seen the colt or filly and not Raha, would gallop up just then. Raha would just stand and smirk while the colt or filly got a scolding or even another nip. He was very rarely caught, and when Reva came to his rescue, most of the mares usually got intimidated, and backed off, dragging their protesting colt or filly with them. (I don't know why, but Reva was always coming to his rescue.) We learned to be alert, occasionally raising our heads from the grass to check if he was near, and some of the weanlings paired up like Thunder and I did. Two pairs of eyes, ears and noses were harder to sneak up on than one pair alone.

   Even though Raha was by unspoken consent the leader of all our races and games, he unpopular because of the above, and all of us were constantly coming up with ways to get back at him. But when we retaliated, he got us into even more trouble, so we gave up and tried another tactic instead. Tactic # 2: Avoiding the Raha menace.

   Every morning, before he could come up to us and ask us to play, we would go off deep into the woods or into the canyons and spend the whole day there, only returning to the meadow by nightfall.  Raha would spend the whole day trying to get somebody to play with him. Nobody would. This went on for 14 moons, until I made him promise before all the weanlings that he wouldn't bother any of us anymore.

     And so, our lives went on in a perfect world, until the day it all got shattered into pieces.

    That day had started just like any ordinary day. It was early autumn, and the leaves had just turned yellow. I was half dozing, standing under a shady tree head to tail with Thunder. We had gone up a new cliff yesterday, and when coming back down, instead of taking the longer, harder, but safer way, Thunder had suggested that instead, we follow the trail that lead straight down the cliff face, into the canyon floor where a deep, wide river ran. That way was shorter and easier, but it lead right beside the river, southwest, and that was the trail the humans had always used. We had been tired and so I agreed without thinking. The rain had started when we were halfway down, and by the time we reached level ground, we were drenched. I hadn't care about the tracks we had made in the mud along the river, because the rain would wash them away anyway. The rain had stopped suddenly, and the sun had come out again, so that by the time we reached the herd that night, our sodden coats were as dry as the rest of the herd.

   And now, while we were dozing, my mother (who was dry that year; she didn't have a foal) galloped by, neighing as she went past, "There might be humans coming. Thunder, go find Golden. Spirit, go with him and wait for me with the herd. Don't move until I come back. " She was running in the direction of the canyons where we had passed through yesterday. A copper blur streaked past me as Northlight went after her. Thunder and I were now awake, and we took off for the herd. 

    We were standing with Golden when the earth shook and a mob of mustangs, Saber's herd, came pouring down the ridge and into our meadow. I heard Golden gasp when two other horses appeared behind the terrified mares and foals. There were humans sitting on the strangers. They cracked their whips and shouted when the mares tried to break free. 

   Our own herd had bunched into a tight group, with all the foals in the center. Northlight came galloping back. He flashed by me and whinnied,  

 " Wait for your mother. She's coming. Don't follow, you aren't coming with us." as he set off to round up his mares and began leading them south, over the hill where we had never been allowed to go. Golden and Thunder and all the other mares and foals went by and disappeared over the hill. I was left all alone in the middle of the meadow. Another herd of mustangs came dashing into the meadow out of nowhere. There was kicking and squealing when the second herd nearly collided with Saber's. Dust rose. I couldn't really tell then, but it looked like a fourth herd had been driven into our meadow.

   And I finally understood. The humans were using our meadow as a giant collecting pen, driving all the herds into it.  It was easy to guard, with the mountains to the north and the woods to the east. The mares with foals would never dare to try and get over the mountains, and if they escaped towards the woods, they would be slowed down because of the trees and brush. There were only two other places to get away. One was the canyon; the humans had come from there. The other was the hill, where Northlight had driven our entire herd. We were surrounded.

   The humans were now among us, riding their tame horses everywhere and rounding up the mustangs. There were whistles and yells. A stallion reared and bugled. I dove out of the way when a tame horse with its human came galloping by.  

  I could hear someone, a stallion maybe, yelling, " Watch out for the ropes!"  _What are ropes?_  I must have said it aloud, because when a mare rushed past me with a human after her, she neighed over her shoulder " _Those_ are ropes! Those twirly thingies that fly in the air…"

One of those things that are called ropes flew over her head and settled on her neck. I couldn't see her anymore, because at that time, another pair of horse and human went past me and I had to get out of the way again.

  I could fear my panic rising. _Where was Mother?_ She should have come by now… and what did Northlight mean when he said we weren't going with him and the herd? Without the protection of the herd, we were as good as dead. And with the predators-coyotes, cougars … and now the _humans…_

  In all the noise and the confusion, I waited and waited for my mother. And at last, above all the terrified squeals and frantic neighs, I heard the sharp, familiar whinny. I shook my forelock out of my eyes and took off for the hill. The dust cleared and I saw my mother standing on the hill, waiting for me. There were yells. I saw a human coming after me from the corner of my eye but I kept going anyway. Something whistled through the air and I felt a rope come over my head and settle around my neck.  I didn't pay any attention to it, just kept running. 

   Until suddenly, I was pulled up short, the rope digging into my withers. I threw myself against it and almost choked.  There was a human beside me now, holding the end of my rope. My mother was still at the top of the hill. She reared, then went plunging back down the hill, towards us, her teeth bared. 

    I was torn. I was scared, and I wanted my mother. But I also didn't want her to get caught. The human beside me had dismounted. His horse stood steady. I pulled at the rope hopefully, but it didn't give. The tame horse turned and eyed me sternly. The human had walked a little before us. He stopped and whistled. 

    My mother froze.

   The human whistled again. 

    He began to walk toward my mother, a coil of rope in his hands. And I remembered what my mother had said about Men. Her voice came again. "...You would find yourself frozen into place, as if paralyzed… and all the while, he is inching closer and closer to you, with a rope in his hands…he will throw the rope around your neck…" My mother had said that it would never happen to her. But now it was…

    The human had now reached her. He was talking to her, patting her, slipping the rope around her neck. I stood and watched, dazed. The human tugged on the rope and my mother seemed to reawaken. She shook her head and tried to pull free, kicking and trying to bite the human, who dodged out of the way. The human let go of the rope. I felt the tame horse beside me brace itself and dig in its feet. The rope that led from the tame horse beside me to my mother grew taut. 

  I think my mother knew it herself. Her head dropped and when the human tugged on the rope again, she quietly followed him back to us.

    Northlight appeared on the hill. He saw us and reared. My mother shook her head. The humans hadn't seen him. He vanished. I was relieved. At least, a member of our herd had seen us and knew what had happened to us. And I was sure that Northlight would come for us again. 

   The human led us both toward the main mob. My mother would not look at me or speak to me. The human who had caught us raised his arms and whooped. " I got her!" he yelled. I jumped; so did my mother. The other humans were going among the horses, looking at their teeth, lifting their feet, walking around them and talking to themselves. That is, they were doing that when they weren't dodging hooves and teeth. The horses fought. They fought a lot. We watched as a gray mare screamed and lunged for the nearest human. Her teeth sank on his arm while the other humans clustered around and got their ropes around her neck. She was pulled away, her teeth still bared, by two of the tame horses.  

   The humans were choosing us, taking who they wanted, and they were letting the rest go. I glanced at the human, or rather, the horse who had our ropes, hoping that he would take them off. He didn't; he was busily talking with the humans who had taken their pick, making strange mouth sounds and gestures with his hands. A strange, huge box had rumbled up to us, and one of the humans stuck his head out from inside the box and yelled, 

"The truck is ready!" Some humans led the horses who had been chosen and had ropes around their necks toward the box. A human stood at the bottom of the ramp and took off the ropes. They clambered up the ramp and were swallowed by the box. Our human led us there too. My mother's rope wasn't taken off. He slipped my rope of my head, but before I could bolt, he took the end of my mother's rope and tied it around my neck. We were the last mustangs up the ramp. The door groaned and slid close with a sickening thud, and we were enclosed in darkness.

    It was then that my mother turned to me. " I'm sorry." Her voice shook. We were the only horses talking then. The others stood still and silent, stunned and shocked. She dropped her head and whickered in my ear, "Do you know how they found us?" 

    Realization didn't slowly dawn on me; it hit me with a bang. Our hoofprints! Yesterday, when Thunder and I were going along the riverbank, it had rained. The ground was turned to mud, and our tracks were left there, imprinted clear as day. They would have been washed away if it had rained more, but the rain had stopped and the sun had come out. The heat had baked our prints in the soil. And our prints led right back to the meadow.

   My mother nodded when she saw me close my eyes. " Thank goodness we were the only ones from our herd to be caught." She nibbled my mane and told me the whole story as the truck rumbled and sped us away from our home. The only home I had ever known.

   She had been planning on taking me to a small cave in the west canyons, a place so rocky that humans never went there. If the humans had followed our herd and didn't find us there, they would've gone away and left us alone, as they had done. If they had seen us, there would have been many more round-ups; the humans wouldn't stop until we were caught. And my mother didn't want to endanger the herd. She was checking that the trail to the cave was clear. That was what had taken her so long. If we had reached that cave, we would have waited out the round-up, until the humans were gone and we could come out again and rejoin the herd. " But now, the only thing to do is to try to escape, if we get the chance." 

   How many moons came and passed while we were in that truck, I do not know. We were in that truck a long time. Once, the truck door had opened and all us horses had been led outside. Nobody had tried to bolt; it would have been useless. We were inside a paddock. A new human came with one of the humans that had caught us. He picked up our feet and looked at our teeth. My mother and I were led away, together with a roan mare and a young white foal. We were loaded into a second truck. Before the door was closed, I saw the new human give what looked like square leaves to the other human.

   When I asked my mother about it later, she said that those weren't leaves. " They're what the humans call money. Humans prize those bits of paper very highly, and would sometimes kill each other for them. Money is used in trade or exchange for something. The humans who caught us sold us to the middleman. A middleman," she added, " is someone who buys and sells horses." And she fell silent once more.

     We stayed in that truck a long time, far longer than we had spent in the previous truck. The roan mare and her foal kept to themselves, and we kept to ourselves. There was no use talking to my mother; what had we to talk about? The discussion and the subject of how to escape had already been exhausted. I quickly got bores, and would spend half my time thinking about the herd and what the foals would be doing right now, and the other half wishing that I was doing it with them. 

      I had been daydreaming, and was wishing that I had someone to talk to other than myself when the truck lurched and stopped. The roan mare and her white foal, surprised, were nearly knocked off their feet. I was thrown forward, banging my nose on the wall. When I had picked myself up, I found my mother standing there calmly, as if nothing had happened at all. " I'm used to this." She said quietly, looking amused at the expression on my face. The truck door was slid open, flooding the whole truck with sunlight and nearly blinding us.  I could barely make out two figures standing across the doorway, waiting to take us down.

    A hand reached out-a five-fingered, human hand-and grasped the rope between me and my mother. My mother tried to bite the hand but it went up and pushed her muzzle aside. The rope was given a tug. My mother braced her feet and stayed in the van. The hand disappeared and reappeared a few moments later with a white cloth. The human lifted himself into the truck beside us and the cloth was tied around my mother's eyes. The human tugged again on the rope and my mother followed him down the ramp, me trotting by her side.  We were in another paddock, this one smaller than the first one I had seen. Behind me, I could hear the scuffling inside the van as the roan mare snorted and tried to kick the humans. The humans backed out of the van, and the roan mare shot down the ramp and into the paddock, her filly a white blur at her heels. 

The humans went away and we were left alone.   
   The roan mare still wasn't looking at us. She bent over her foal, licking and nuzzling the filly. My mother trotted around the paddock, looking around and taking note of possible escape routes. " This changes everything." She said to me in a low voice. " We are far, very, very far from the meadow. I'd passed this place when I ran away long ago. This is dozens of miles from home. If we do get out, I could get there, but _you_ couldn't possible make it." she was eyeing me, calculating my strength. " I can," I declared. " Home can't possibly be that far, can it?" 

 " I'm afraid it is." She said soberly. " Its too far for you." 

" I'm a weanling!" 

"_You_ are not yet one year old. I've seen foals older than you who attempted shorter distances than this, and _they didn't make it!_"

" But I'm not a-" She cut me short with her look, one of the fiercest she had ever given me yet.

     We had been standing facing each other and I saw her eyes widen. Before I could turn around to look for whatever it was that had frightened her, I felt another rope being thrown around my neck. At the same time, the rope between us was cut with a knife. 

    When the human tugged on my rope, I dug in my feet and refused to budge until I saw the other human leading my mother right beside me. We were turned out on paddocks beside each other, so that we could still talk over the wooden fence. My mother set off to explore her paddock; I walked around mine as well. We were talking over the fence when the roan mare and her filly were led here; the filly, who was put in my paddock, ignored me as usual and so did the mare who was put in with my mother. I glanced at them and continued talking with my mother, our earlier argument forgotten. "There's a hole in here, between the last piece of wood and the ground. It's small, but I bet that it'll get bigger if I dig at it. Then, I could go over to your side." I whickered to my mother. She looked about, then shook her head. " Don't do it now; do it tonight. If the humans see you, they may put you in another paddock, and we don't want that. The fence here is low enough for me to jump out. I want to try doing it tonight. But we have to wait for them-" she glanced at the roan mare and the filly. "to go to sleep before we try it."

   As it turned out, even though I pawed at it all afternoon, the hole didn't get any larger. That night, I watched my mother trot to the far side of her paddock, then turn and cantered straight at the fence. She went to a gallop near it, and bounded over the fence with ease. When she jumped back in, she was smiling. " That went well. You'll be able to do when you're a bit older; it isn't as hard as it looks." And amazingly, the roan mare stayed fast asleep.

   As the days passed, the humans left us alone, and with no one to play with, I was left to my digging. The filly still wasn't speaking to me. My mother had told me in a hushed voice that the roan mare had been blaming us for their capture. " She knows that I was a tame horse, although how she knew that is a miracle." My mother nickered softly. 

The problem was, although the hole had grown slightly larger, digging is a very boring job. But there was nothing else to do, and so I had to go on digging, digging, pawing the earth with my hoof…I could have fallen asleep doing it. If this was captivity, then I could see why my mother had wanted out of it.  But she reassured me that there was much more later. This was just the beginning. And it was going to get worse. And she also told me that if we were ever separated, she knew that I could take care of myself now. If I did escape, and I wasn't with her, she told me that all I had to do was to follow the sunset by day, and follow the north star by night. " Just go northwest…keep on going northwest, whatever you do. Don't worry, every true mustang will find his true home, where he truly belongs…" 

    Several moons later, I was dozing with my head down when I was awakened by nickering, and a thudding sound. I raised my head, suddenly wide awake. Everything looked peaceful; there was the sleeping filly keeping away from me as usual, the roan mare with her head down, and my mother-

    I felt my stomach lurch. My mother wasn't in her paddock.

    I threw myself down on the ground and wiggled through the now-noticeably-larger hole, and into my mother's paddock. The roan mare was still sleeping. I put my head down and began searching the ground. I found my mother's scent and followed it. The scent trail led to the far side of the paddock, then went back to the fence. I had a guess, a hunch-and on the ground a few feet from the fence, I found my proof. There were two deeply-imprinted hoofprints. A horse couldn't have made them walking; he couldn't have made them galloping. He made them jumping.

     By now, I was getting worried. My mother wouldn't have left me all alone and gone off by herself. I went around the paddock with my nose to the ground. And there, near the place where she had jumped, I found a strange whiff of something-something that was strange, and yet was oddly familiar all the same. My suspicion grew. I wiggled out of the paddock (Yay, I was free! I'd been wanting to do that for days) and followed the scent trail. (Boy, if I keep on doing this, I'd soon become a tracking dog, not a horse.) There were definitely two scents. One was my mother's. The other was the stranger's. And I somehow knew that the stranger was a stallion. My father had come for my mother.

    I followed the trail through the night. The scent disappeared often, going over stones and grass. There were no tracks. It might have been hard to track, but my mother had raised me, and she had taught me all her tricks. The scent led me west, and I followed until I lost it when I got to a brook. The brook was shallow and I continued to look for the trail after swimming the water and clambering up the opposite bank. The wind came, and I caught another whiff of the scent. It had gotten stronger. They were near… 

   I'd just entered a clearing when I stepped on a twig. Two heads shot up-one, black as night-my mother's-and the other, a dark copper colored stallion's. I could barely make out my mother's shining white star in the darkness, and only the stallion's flaxen mane and tail gave away where he was. They both stiffened. 

    There was silence for a moment. Then, " Spirit, is that you?" came my mother's voice. For a moment, I considered telling her that no, I wasn't Spirit, just to see her reaction. Until I realized that there was no use pretending; my now-dirty-and-dusty golden coat had given me away. I sighed. " Yeah, that's me." My mother relaxed, and so did Northlight. He had a healing cut on his nose; it was obvious that the cut had barely healed when it was opened again.

    I took a deep breath. " Can I go home with you?" I asked. Which was pretty stupid and unnecessary, I realized a moment later, since I was sure my mother would say yes; hadn't she herself told me that I was now old enough to take care of myself? And hadn't that included going home with them, however far home was? Thoughts of our meadow were running through my head. I could practically picture myself back once again at the meadow, galloping with the other weanlings, plunging my nose in the cold water in the brook …… I was dimly aware of my mother shaking her head. I closed my eyes and opened them again. Was I seeing right? My mother was still shaking her head.

   " But you said- " She cut me off. " I know what I said. And I only said that you were old enough to be able to take care of yourself, not that you would be able to make the journey." 

     My mouth fell open. I closed it. " But why do _you _have to go?" I asked. Northlight answered for her. " The herd's in trouble without a lead mare." He said softly. " Your mother's the lead mare. She knows where the best grazing grounds and the streams are. I don't know that much about them myself. If famine came and your mother wasn't there, the herd would starve.

    Mares lead, stallions protect. Lead mares guard the herd when the stallion's away. Some moons ago, Saber came and tried to steal more mares. While I was out fighting him, another stallion came."

    He didn't need to say anymore; I understood. That was why he had that cut; he had fought two stallions, one after the other. If my mother had been there, she would have lead the herd to safety and made sure that none of the mares were missing.

   " The humans will come after us. Even if you could make the distance, and even if you're part thoroughbred, I doubt you could outrun a full-grown stock horse. And the terrain's flat, so you won't have any hiding places. Plus, there'll be coyotes and snakes…" My mother trailed off. 

  My anger rose. What was it with her?

  " Its not that we don't want you to come home with us," she added hastily as my face fell. " But I mean, what's the use of getting free if you're only going to die in the process? You'll be wasting your life. It would be better if you went back and waited a bit, until you're four or five years old-"  "_What! That long? But-"  _ "-because by then, you'll make the distance and you can fight off the coyotes and-" "_I don't want to wait until I'm four years old! That's years and years away-"_   " It's not _that_ long, before you know it, you'll be back with us-"  "_You said that when Star was going to be captured, he jumped the cliff instead! I'd rather-"_  " Star was in a different situation! It was either that or capture! And you aren't Star! You have the choice of going back, staying there, and running away again, or you can come with us now and regret it for the rest of your life!" We were both breathing hard and glaring at each other. " It's not that we don't want you to come with us," she said again, a little more calmly. "In fact, we would have been glad that you could come, and proud that you could track us here."

   I didn't hear her; my mind was still spinning.  _My mother! My own mother didn't want me to go home…and it was she who had taught me to want to be free…_                          

   Northlight, who had been watching silently up to this point, broke in on my thoughts. " Go back son… it's almost dawn and the humans will be looking for you…go on…we have to go now before its daylight or we'll be too easy to track…go on…" I was brought back to my senses. He was right; the sky was already gray tinged with yellow on the horizon. If I galloped all the way back, I could still make it. There was a thudding sound and as I turned my head, I saw two blurs, one black, the other copper, burst out of the thicket, streak up the hill and stop. Northlight reared and pawed the air in silent farewell; I reared too. Then, they were gone.

     I turned, made my way across the brook, and began cantering back, back to captivity…  

    I went into a gallop as soon as I reached level ground. 

    I was back in my paddock just before the sun rose, dusty and tired, and by the time the white filly woke up, I was there, as if nothing had happened the night before, still asleep. 

*~*~*~*~*

   The humans did look for my mother. They came in the morning, and I watched them walk around and around the part of the fence where my mother had jumped, bending down to look at the ground and making their mouth noises. They walked a bit further on, but I knew that they wouldn't find any tracks. The humans went away and came back with dogs. The dogs sniffed and howled, but they ran around and around in circles and finally came back to their masters with their heads drooping and their tails low. The humans went away for the third time, and came back with stock horses. They rode away, and came back at the end of the day looking dusty and tired. And defeated. There were no mustangs with them.

  For the rest of the day, and for several moons afterwards, I couldn't keep the triumphant smile off my face. Somewhere out there, my mother and father were running, with their heads down low and their hooves pounding the ground; running with the wind in their faces, lifting their manes and tails, going ever westward. Going home.


	5. Training

Disclaimer: The Black isn't mine and Oakwood Acres(If there is such a place) isn't mine either.

Chapter 4  

   Life changed after my mother's escape. With the onset of winter, the filly, the mare and I were brought in from the paddocks and put in wooden buildings I remember my mother calling 'stable'. " It is where the humans keep their tame horses." She had said.

    The stable was strange. The closest thing to it that I had seen in the wild was a cave. These stables weren't dark and damp like the caves were; they were warm and filled with a yellow light that seemed to be coming from what looked like little suns hanging from the roof. Here, we were put in individual stalls and fed dried grass. We stayed here most of the winter, occasionally being brought outside by the humans to walk and trot for a while, then being put back inside.

  The humans were strange. I had taken the first opportunity to study them when it came. It came when one of the humans stumbled in, sank onto the ground against the opposite stall door, and seemed to fall asleep. I could barely get my head over the half door in my stall; I still wasn't tall enough to do it, so I had to be content with turning my head sideways and peering at him. 

  The human had never looked more different to any of us horses. He had a round head, with both eyes in front (how could he ever spot predators sneaking up on him if his eyes were at the front?!), a small, round mouth (which he used to make strange mouth noises), and…those things that stuck out from the side of his head. Were they ears? He walked upright, with his back legs on the ground and his forelegs out and beside him (no wonder humans fell often; how could he keep his balance with only two legs?!) and had a mop of something that might have been a forelock. He didn't have a mane or a tail either. He might have looked a bit more like us if he crouched down and ran on his hooves.

   The human's hooves were strange; they didn't look like ours did. They were soft, and ended in five fingers. The hooves could do many things; it could pick up something, stroke our necks, carry objects, and twist and turn in all sorts of ways. And once, we saw the human _eating_ with his hooves holding shiny metallic instruments. How could he eat with his hooves!?! The whole idea was preposterous. That was my first impression of humans: They were strange, and some of their ideas were ridiculous (like wearing coverings on their hind hooves and clothes on their bodies), but on the whole, they weren't as terrible as my mother had made them out to be.                                

     That winter, I also overcame my fear of civilization in general, and humans in particular. When I first came, I jumped and shied from every little sound and movement, sure that they would bring unknown new terrors jumping out at me. Back home, the terrors were simple, clear and defined; we had to stay clear of coyotes and snakes in case we get bitten, or keep away from deep rivers and steep gullies in case we fall in. Here, the terror was indefinite, therefore we couldn't avoid it because we wouldn't know how. 

   However, as the moons passed, I found that I was getting used to the strange sounds and things. I no longer jumped whenever something moved, nor started when a human hand came to rest on my neck. My sharp senses, keyed up in the wild, were no longer needed here in a world that was devoid of predators, and so they deteriorated. I no longer pricked up my ears at every little sound or footstep, and I no longer tried to bite the humans whenever I had the chance. I also found myself thinking less and less of the other yearlings back home, though I would still escape if I had a chance.  

   There were other tame horses; I knew that. I could smell them even if I couldn't see them, though we were the only mustangs. Mostly, there were the stock horses, but on the occasions when we were outside, I happened to catch a glimpse of the other larger stable. There were tall, clean-boned horses, small shaggy ponies, and the stock horses. But we were kept away from them, and before long, I didn't think of them anymore. The roan mare maintained her silence, but I would sometimes catch the filly staring at me, as though trying to determine whether I was an alien or not. _Fat chance, really,_ I wanted to tell her sometimes, _that I would have green stalks poking out of my head._

    Spring came and I turned into a yearling; I was now a one year old. 

    I had grown taller, gained more weight, and was more filled out. I didn't look like the long-legged lanky foal that I had been. My feet grew slightly larger. I'd now grown tall enough that I could just put my head over the stall door.

   The humans increased our trips outside, and the time we spent out of the stable was lengthened. The humans put straps on our heads called 'halters', on to which they would somehow attach ropes with hose strange hooves of theirs. These ropes were used to lead us about. 

    I was getting used to being walked to and fro, so I had no reason to be frightened that day when the human who had me led me into an empty paddock. He tied the end of the rope to the fence, and try as I might, no matter how hard I yanked with my head, I couldn't pull free.

    The human tied another rope around my neck and took the halter off my head. He had another halter-look-alike object with him. This one had a small, shiny metal stick. The human showed it first to me, telling me that it was a 'bridle' and that the shiny thing was a bit, then tried to put it on my head. I snorted and tossed my mane, trying to avoid the thing coming near me. The human grabbed my head and shoved the bit in my mouth; his fingers flew and before I knew it, the bridle straps were done, the bridle firmly on my head. 

   I snorted and pulled away, now nervous. My trust in human beings was fast dissolving. The sensation of the bit was new and strange. It felt like I had a very thin, cold stick in between my teeth, pressing on my tongue and against the corners of my mouth. I mouthed and chewed, testing the bit, and tried to bite through it. I flung up my head, trying to get rid of the whole thing.  The bridle stayed on. My anxiety grew. What was this thing going to do to me? 

    I was distracted by the human tying the end of a rope to the bridle. He backed away and shook the line. What did the human want me to do? The human had another rope in his hand. He flicked this rope on the ground. I stood and stared.  The human repeated this flicking again and again. I didn't budge. How could I? What would I do if I did move, if I didn't even know what to do? He hadn't told me to do anything, at least, anything that made sense. Then, I felt the rope flicked against my hindquarters. Pain licked across my hocks and I squealed in surprise. The fear grew. Whatever trust I had in the human vanished. I was now the wild, suspicious colt who had come months ago, not the tame yearling I had been acting. 

    The pain came again, and I bolted, away from the human. The rope on the bridle grew taut and I stopped. The human made a mouth-sound. "Walk," he said. I didn't know what that meant. The human came nearer, gathering up the loose rope as he went, so that very soon, we were only a few meters apart.  I eyed him, kept my eyes on his human-hooves and when they made a sudden movement, I reared, flailing my hooves. The rope was flicked again and again at my hindquarters.  When I came down, the human tried to grab the side of the bridle. I was faster than him; before his hands could close on me, I lunged and sank my teeth in one of his hooves. It wasn't hard, like I had expected, but soft, and I heard a yell of pain from him. The blows from the rope came harder and I let go of him. " My hand!" he was yelling. 

   Ah, so human-hooves were also called hands. The hand I had bitten was streaming a red liquid. 

   The human put his hand up to his mouth. He staggered away, still holding the rope to my bridle and the rope used for hitting me, and leaned unto the fence. I watched him, tense, ready to bolt if he made any move toward me. 

   The human glared at me and made a mouth-sound. I couldn't understand human speech, but it sounded like the human was swearing. He let go of the rope to my bridle and edged away, out of the paddock, his bitten hand still in his mouth.

   I cantered around the paddock, feeling triumphant. The human was gone! I felt the giddiness ebb away when I saw him come back with another human. And they were both carrying the ropes for flicking me, and another rope for catching me with. "Careful with the whips," the bitten human told the un-bitten human. The rope used for hitting now had a name.

   They entered the paddock. I'd been standing in the center of the paddock, and I backed away, frightened.  The humans spread their arms and bent their knees, and began to yell. My ears were pounding with the sound. I shook my head, still backing away. They waved their arms, occasionally flicking the whips against the ground, and continued forward. I continued backing away, eyes going right and left, searching desperately for an escape route. There was none. Then, I felt the fence against my hindquarters. I was cornered. The fear rose in me. Now I could understand why my mother had so hated Men.

   The humans were now only a few feet away; one of them had already picked up the rope to my bridle. I felt a fresh surge of panic; surely they would want revenge for being bitten. The fear, desperation, anger and panic rose up in me, and I exploded. My ears went back, flat against my head, I bared my teeth, and charged straight at them. They flung up their arms and yelled louder. I pushed past them and kept going until I was pulled up short. The line to the bridle was taut again, but now there was another rope around my neck. 

   That night, back in my stall, I nursed my wounds and my resentment. Not that I had any wounds that could be nursed. When the humans had come near me that afternoon in the paddock, I had reared, terrified. They'd brought me down, and dragged me kicking and snarling all the way back to our stable. Here, outside my stall door, while one human clamped my mouth shut, the other quickly removed all the ropes. The bridle was loosened, and was slipped off my head. I'd spat the bit out and fled into my stall.

   This day was the beginning of the seemingly endless series of days that would make up my 'breaking in'. I came to dread the sound of the human's footsteps outside the stall door every morning, the voices, the 'training' that instead, was torture to me. The confusion, terror, and resentment grew and boiled, until it all became one great, big mass of hatred. This was the first time in my life that I had truly hated something. Back home, Raha's bullying had just been something to tolerate, just something to live with, but not really something to hate. But this was different. I hated man, period. My longing for home grew. At night, I would pine for my mother, wishing for a word of advice from her, anything, just to see her again.

    That was how it went. I was taken out every morning, led to the paddock, where there, the humans would spend hours at a time 'teaching' me 'lessons.' The whip was always there, ever present, ever ready to bring on the necessary disciplinary action was I to rebel. It became more than a whip to me; it was the cause of my being a puppet, forced to do what the humans wanted. The bridle was always there too; every morning, it was forced on me. 

    I was learning, as the humans called it, but I wasn't really learning at all. Because the whip was there, any chance of learning something was wiped out with the terror that the whip would do something new to me. During the training sessions, I became nervous and skittish, wondering and worrying if I was doing the right thing, what the humans wanted me to do. It was like a game, the humans saying something, and me guessing what it was. More often than not, I would guess wrong. The whip would fall once or twice, then the human would say the command and I would try again. By the end of the training session, while the humans stood and crowed that they had taught me something, I would stand off to the side, reduced to a trembling, sweat-soaked bundle of nerves. My line of thought went like this: " Did I do right? Yeah, maybe…the humans aren't doing anything with the whip…no wait…what was that command again?…maybe they wanted me to go faster…oh man, the whip's coming up–ouch!  maybe I did it wrong…was that right or left again? And what is the whole point of doing this?" …..

  Some days, because of my resistance to the bridle, the humans would put _two_ bits in my mouth. I specially hated the double-bit; it was like having a mouth full of metal, making you easier to control. Other days, there would be just a single bit, but this bit would be thicker and heavier than the double-bit, so that I had the feeling that my mouth was going to drop off, and I kept my teeth clenched just in case it did. It didn't fall off, but I did get a very sore jaw for days afterward.

   The humans also put a deep cut on my tongue; I assume that it was done to make me more sensitive to the bit. 

   I had learned the 'walk', 'trot', 'canter', and 'gallop' commands (I would do the requested gait at the lunge line) and the humans were now teaching me to go right or left. I didn't really go the direction; I just shifted my weight in either direction and the humans were content.

    It wasn't that the humans were cruel; in fact, we were given food, water, and everyday, we were groomed. But to me, I'd rather have poor food or famine and be treated well, than have all the luxuries in the world and be treated like a slave. Not that I was a slave. 

   The white filly was doing better than me, partly because she and the humans got off to a good start; she was obedient and learned quickly, while I was more stubborn and rebellious. She was being trained in the paddock next to mine. She and the roan mare _still_ weren't speaking to me.  I guess they blamed me for their capture. In a way, it was my fault; it was some of my hoofprints that had led the humans to the meadow, but I wasn't entirely to blame; if she and the filly had been more careful, then they wouldn't have been caught. Mustangs value their freedom _a lot_.  

  The white filly behaved like an absolute angel. She trotted, walked, did whatever the humans commanded in the paddock. In the stable, I could hear her whinnying a greeting every time the humans came. She was given pats and praises, and the humans acted as if she were the most perfect horse in the world.

   I felt sick as I watched them one morning, the humans stroking her neck and all that. It was not because I was jealous. No, I would never be jealous of her. It was because I was sick of watching her being a puppet. I felt that she had no sense of mustang pride. The way she acted, you could almost have believed that she _wanted_ to be in captivity, as if she were a tame horse born in a human stable and not a mustang born in the wild. 

   In contrast, I behaved like a total nightmare. Sure, I was quiet when in the stable. I could be led to and fro outside safely. But once I was led into the paddock, the wildness began. I was transformed to a screaming, raging monster, rearing and kicking to get free. Until the whip was produced. _Then_ I would quiet down.

    It was really just a whole big mess of misunderstanding. The humans thought that they would teach me something by using discipline. They thought that all wild horses are 'bad', and needed to be taught a good lesson on how to behave. They thought that by using force, we would learn faster, and get 'tame' really quick. But it was exactly the opposite. Whenever the whip was present, even though it wasn't being used, I was prone to forgetting what had just been taught to me, worrying about whether I would get a lash of the whip. 

   The humans got angry quickly. More often than not, they would begin yelling and waving their arms whenever I made a slight mistake..

    By using force, they made us nervous and scared, and when we were scared, we were prone to get wild with terror at every little thing. And that was exactly what they were trying to get rid of, that wildness and the tendency to bolt.  

  One day, when I came back from the paddock and into the stable, there wasn't any hay in the feedbox. I plunged my nose in my water and waited for the humans to bring the food. The hay didn't come. I went hungry that day. The second day, I wasn't given any food either. That day, I was pretty quiet during training. The hunger gnawed at my insides, and when the bit was pushed into my mouth, I didn't fight as much. The humans nodded and made mouth-sounds. Later that day, the filly and I were taken out again and bridled. There was a new human, whom I recognized to be the one who had bought us. We were walked to and fro, turned right and left, then urged into a canter, the humans jogging at our side, and our owner watching. If I weren't that hungry, I would have had been a lot more 'bad' as the humans called it. And so it went. Every time our owner came, I wasn't given any food that day and the day before. This always resulted in my being more quiet and submissive than usual. 

   Summer came and the weather grew hot. We were back in the paddocks, but now, I was on my own, and the white filly was put in with the mare. Every time the humans wanted to catch me, they would come closer and closer, waving their arms, cracking their whips (which they always seemed to carry) and yelling. I would always back away, and they would corner me against the paddock fence. Then, they would catch me.

   One day, when I was led into the paddock, I noticed something new other than the bridle. This something new also seemed to be made of leather. It was squarish, with a curved top and two straps underneath. My trainer, the one whom I had bitten before, spoke with the others, telling them something about "-getting even with that horse…" And strangely, all the other humans except the one who was training me left. They had always been there before, just watching while my trainer put me through my paces and "taught" me new things. 

   This morning, it was just my trainer and I. I was wearing the double-bit today. There was an ominous feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something was going to happen today, something bad…  

   The trainer started with the usual exercise, walking and trotting me on the lunge line. I eyed him warily. He had the squarish something in his hands and was approaching me. " This," he declared loudly with an impatient note to his voice, as if wanting to get it over with, and edging nearer still," is a saddle." And he added in an undertone, " The boss has threatened to fire me if you don't improve. I'm under probation, and it's all because of _You_!" With that, he plunked the saddle, whatever it was used for, down in the middle of my back. I bucked and the saddle went flying off. The human went to fetch it, and came back. He was suddenly very angry; he looked murderous. "Don't think that you're going to get out of this one!" he yelled in my face. The whip cracked and came flying with every single word.

   " Horses-"  _crack!_  " like you-"   _crack !_   "need-"   _crack!_   " to be-" _crack!_   " taught-"  _crack!_   "a lesson!"   _crack!_  

   "You-" _crack!_ "will wear-" _crack!_ "this saddle-" _crack!_ "right now," _crack!_ "whether" _crack! _"you-" _crack!_ "like it" _crack_! "or not!" He gave me a particularly painful lash. 

    With each _crack, _the whip cut into my skin, leaving white-hot gashes in its wake. My back felt like it was on fire. I let out a squeal of pain and surprise and whirled to meet him, teeth bared. The whip had been used on me before, but always lightly, just tapping my skin, giving a stinging sensation that went away after a while. This was different. 

   " _Don't you know_?" the human yelled. "_I've always trained horses before you by whipping, making, forcing them into doing something, and it has always, always, always, worked before!" _His eyes were bloodshot and bulging. _" Until you came along! You were scared, like all the others, but you didn't obey me like they did!"_  I found myself backing away from the human mad with rage. "_What is it with you?! My reputation is being destroyed-,"_ he yelled, " _by some stupid, dumb, animal that can't even think-" _   

I could feel the anger rising in me too. The fear was gone, and was replaced by a maddening rage. Red dots started dancing in front of my eyes. At that moment, I didn't care if he continued to beat me. And as he continued to shout and wave the whip in my face, occasionally giving me more lashes, enough was enough. I exploded.  

   My ears went back, pinned flat against my head. My lip curled. I charged. This time, it wasn't me that was running away. For the first time, I wasn't bolting away from him; I was chasing him. He started to run, then tripped and fell. I smelt fear. It wasn't my own.  The red dots in front of my eyes increased. My rage grew. Someone screamed. I think it was me, but I didn't care then; I just wanted the human dead. I reared and flailed my hooves, pawing the air. When I came down, I expected to feel the human beneath my hooves; expected to hear pounding, my hooves pounding the human flesh. Instead, my hooves came down on the ground. The human had rolled away. I whirled, and at that moment, something leapt on to my back from behind. I could almost feel my knees buckling under the weight. The human was sitting on me, his hands wrapped around my mane, his knees against my sides. 

   A rope was around my neck, pressing against my throat, and all the while, the whip was whistling through the air, cutting searing lashes into my skin. I gathered my strength and reared again. The human's weight threw me off balance and we both went over backward. I crashed on to the ground and scrambled up. The human was on his feet too; he was still yelling. I felt the rope tighten around my neck, crushing my windpipe. I tried to swing around and kick him with my back legs. He dodged away. I was heaving and gasping for air. And I wasn't getting any. My lungs felt like they were bursting. I made a feeble attempt to bolt. The rope pressed tighter. I choked. The human was now shouting with a gleeful expression on his face. Everything went blurry. I could feel my knees buckling, and was dimly aware of the ground coming up to meet me. Then everything went black.

    "Shocking…really shocking… well anyway, he's being sold as soon as he heals…" I opened my eyes. I was back in the stable, lying on the straw, and the humans were talking outside my stall door. " …nearly strangled himself earlier today…anyway, Jim says he'll never work with him again…" The humans walked past and went out of the stable. 

   There was no doubt who the _he_ they were talking about was. I was being sold as soon as I healed. _What healed?_ I didn't remember getting sick… 

   Then I tried to stand up and felt fiery pains all over my back and sides.  Oh. I turned my head and sniffed the wounds. There was a funny sort of smell in them…maybe medicine?

    Hours later, I still stood brooding, thinking. If the humans hated me that much, then why didn't they get rid of me now? Slowly, as I thought, the answer came. When we were first bought, the human had looked at us, choosing what he wanted to buy. Maybe the humans here didn't want the buyers to see my mangled sides…I wondered how long it would take to heal. I couldn't wait to get out of the place. 

   The rest of the time I spent in that place before being sold was either in my stall or being walked outside. Because I was going to be sold, I was being fed the usual hay, plus oats, and something called linseed to make my coat shine. I was walked or trotted at the lunge line, but this time, it was with a different human. This human was a lot different from Jim; he didn't get mad quickly, and most of the time, he just gave off an air of indifference. And I wasn't being made to wear a bridle; I nearly trampled the humans when they tried to get it on me the first time I was out. There was just the halter, with the rope attached to it.

   My mane, tail and fetlocks were trimmed. One afternoon, a human came. I was caught and the human nailed u-shaped pieces of metal on my feet. It was very heavy and awkward at first, but I soon got used to clopping around with the shoes. Another day, another human came and looked at me. He picked up my feet, checked my teeth, ran his hands all over my body, walked me around, and wrote something on a piece of paper, which he gave to the human handling me. I was de-wormed, and something sharp was stuck into my thigh several times with the interval of several days. The humans said that I was being given 'shots', whatever that was. The human who gave me my shots came again and filed my teeth. He stuck something long down my throat, pressed a cold, circular object against my chest, and gave me more shots.

   I was exercised daily, and groomed for hours on end, until my golden coat was gleaming. My mane and tail were brushed out straight. I didn't know why the humans suddenly went into such a fuss over me, until I realized that they had to make prospective buyers interested in buying me.

  The cuts were now gone. They had prickled and stung when touched at first, but by some miracle of human medicine, all that was left of them was a small white, moon-shaped scar near my withers that could be hidden by my mane.

   Now that I was no longer starved, I was my fiery self again, but as long as the whip and bridle were kept out of my sight, I was quiet.

   Fourteen moons after the 'training session', and a little over seven full moons since I had arrived in the middle-man's stable, I was led into a van, and I knew that I was being taken away.

   Being sold didn't feel any different from when I was still un-sold.  I was taken out of the van a few days later and loaded in to a dark stall in something that shook and vibrated, something I later found out was called a plane. I was sick most of the time I spent in the plane, so I was glad when I was at last led out of it, transferred to another van, traveled in the van, was unloaded, and led into another stable. Here, I was rubbed down in a stall and left alone with a box of hay and oats.      

    There were other horses here. Lots and lots of other horses.  _Hundreds_ of other horses. I was put in a stall, with empty stalls on either side of me, so that I had no on to talk to. Not that I would have talked to a stranger anyway.

    Several moons passed this way, with the grooms coming every morning to groom, feed and exercise us, then leaving us alone for the rest of the day. 

   Until _the_ day. The day that I was going to be sold. I knew it, knew it as soon as I woke up that morning and smelled the grooms' heightened tension and excitement. There wasn't the usual talk and laughter, as the humans joked while they worked on us. 

    The grooms were rushing about, doing everything and grooming everyone with lightning speed. When somebody spoke, their voices were usually curt and snappy. Some horses were led out, their coats glossy, their hooves clopping on the stone floor. They never came back. As the day wore on, the stable slowly emptied. Soon, all that was left were us yearlings.

   They came for me when the sun was in the middle of the sky. A human let himself into my stall and quickly brushed over my coat. A line was clipped to my halter and I was led out, out of the stable and into a wide space. Humans were sitting or standing behind more ropes that roped off the ring.

    I was walked to and fro in front of the crowd of humans. Someone, probably the auctioneer, from behind me was saying, " And here is _Free Wind_, by a – whoa, ladies and gentlemen! We've got an unusual one here. This colt was by a mustang stallion out of Bella. As you folks may remember, Bella is a black filly by Always Carefree out of Ocean Beauty by Winged Feet. She ran away years ago, but here is her colt. As you may well know - " At that moment, he started to enumerate a long list of my ancestors and I stopped listening. I swept my gaze around the ring, wondering who my new owner was. Would he be nice? Or would he take after the likes of Jim, my trainer? Never mind, I wouldn't stay long enough to find out. As soon as I get the chance, I would make a break for it. 

      I was soon sold and brought to my new owners' van. There were other horses, but I couldn't tell how many in the dark. It wasn't pitch black inside, with a small window at the back of my stall, so that the small patch of light that was let in made it just light enough to see around my stall. Small as in, I could just slip my nose out of the opening/window/whatever you want to call it. Not that I wanted to stick my head out there anyway.

    I spent the rest of the night brooding on things. _Free Wind_. That was what the humans had called me. It was a surprisingly good name – considering my past behavior, I'd expected the humans to call me " Little Monster" or something like that.

     There was another problem that had come up. I'd tried to not think about it for as long as I could. But I couldn't avoid it now. 

   The humans were taking me away to who-knows-where – a place. And I didn't know where it was. How could I run away if I didn't even know where to go? My mother had said that all I had to do was to follow the sun west – but for all I know, I could end up at the Coast – or wherever my mother had been headed when she escaped. She'd been heading west too.

   My mother. I was bursting with the need to know whether she and Northlight had made it back to the herd. I just wanted so much to see her and the others again – I wouldn't have minded even if it was Raha – as long as it was someone from our herd. The truck bounced and I swayed. My eyelids were heavy with exhaustion. Finally, I dozed off.

   How long we were in that truck, I do not know. I remembered waking up once and eating a few mouthfuls of hay, then going back to sleep. Another time, the humans came and gave us fresh water. I dropped back to sleep after gulping down a few mouthfuls and glaring at the humans. They hadn't glared back. 

    The rest of the time that I was awake, I spent studying my stablemates, or rather, my van-mates. It was so B-O-R-I-N-G. With a capital B and everything, but there was nothing else to do. There were several mares; I was the only colt and the youngest there, being the only yearling. The mares kept their silence; they dozed most of the time or kept their backs on me. Either they didn't care at all, or they knew what I was and looked at me so lowly that they didn't want at all to talk to filth like me. I'd tried once to talk to the mare in the stall next to mine, but she only turned an eye on me and glared so fiercely that I gave up. 

    I was sleeping when the van jolted into a stop. I jerked awake just in time to see a human clip a line to my halter before leading me down the ramp to blinding sunlight and to my new home. 

   We were outside a big(in my eyes) stable with a shiny sign that said "Oakwood Acres" . I caught a glance of spacious stalls and a clean floor as the mares were led inside. My human didn't bring me in with the others, but went on past paddock after paddock filled with horses of every size and color. 

   He unclipped the line from my halter and turned me loose in an empty paddock, telling me "Sir Peppero'll keep you company" before going away. I stared around the paddock. There wasn't a single person or horse in it. It wasn't very big, just big enough for a couple of horses to gallop around freely. There was a very big tree at the far corner of it. I trotted around and rolled in the grass. This was the first time I'd been turned out in a paddock in weeks.  

  It happened when I'd just finished a roll. I had ended up near the fence.  I heard hooves and found myself looking up to the faces of horses, the foals my age. They stretched their noses over me curiously, sniffing, and I was reminded of my introduction to the herd. I was whuffing noses with them when someone took a bite out of my neck. I scrambled up and away, surprised.

    "Nice little demons – I mean , young'ns, aren't they?" someone asked. I whipped around and stared. There hadn't been anybody in the paddock with me – I was sure of that.

    Something moved under the shadow of the huge tree. 

    Turns out I was wrong. There was somebody there after all. The somebody walked forward and came to stand before me. 

    He wasn't like anything I had ever seen before. The horse was old; very old–I could tell that, and he wasn't very tall. That wasn't unusual. It was his coat that made me stare. It was mottled black and white, with a white background and black spots or splotches or whatever you call them going across, all the way. " I'm an Appaloosa," the horse added, watching me stare as if he were amused. He swept by me to the fence. The yearlings scattered. I bounded up beside him.

   " That one now," he motioned with his nose to the yearling that had bitten me. " That black one–he's the mean one. Humans called him Steele. Watch out for him; if you're not careful, one day, he'll either eat you alive or trample you dead." I snorted. That wouldn't happen. The horse went on. "The two chestnuts–they're half brothers–same sire, different dams. The bay –" he motioned again with his nose, " He's a loner. Those three fillies–that bay one and the creamy one are always together–are the only females of the whole lot."

   " That about you?" I blurted. He hadn't told me his name, but I'd guessed who he was. "My name," the old horse said, trying to look dignified, " is Sir Peppero. The humans call me 'Sir P'. Now you –" he turned to glare at me. "–will call me _Sir_ Peppero. With the SIR, mind you." "The stupid names those silly humans give." He muttered under his breath as he turned away and started to graze. I joined him; I'd forgotten just how hungry I was.

   " Chaya'll come tomorrow," he said to himself afterward, when we were watching the yearlings race. " Who's Chaya ?" I asked. " The human who takes care of us." He said vaguely. "Now be quiet. I want to watch the sunset." I fell silent.  

   That night, Sir Peppero and I dozed head-to-tails under the tree. I fell asleep to the chirping of the crickets and the sound of the wind gently going through the leaves of the huge tree we stood under.   

A/N: Did any of the horses in the Black Stallion Series win the Triple Crown?

Faia Ookami – Thanks a lot.  


	6. Chaya

Disclaimer: No, ze Black izn't myn, an neizer iz Oakwood Acrez. (If there iz an Oakwood Acrez…) 

    " No no no!" Sir Peppero interrupted me for the umpteenth that day. It was early morning, just after dawn, and we were standing by the fence; he was pointing things out to me and I had to name them. 

   "That's not a rope – that's a lead line." He seemed to have taken it unto himself to teach me and correct me of my unbelievably many errors and misconceptions about the human world – errors that, according to him, would put the entire horse breed to shame. " But it's still a rope." I protested. " If it's a rope, why can't we call it a rope?"

   " Because the humans don't call it a rope." He sighed. We'd been over this many times already. "Now that–that thing. What do you call that thing?" he asked. He was testing me, to see if I'd absorbed any of my numerous past lessons. And he was also being very bossy. Which I hated.

   " That's a van."   

   " _No – how many times do I have to tell you – THAT IS A TRAILER!!!"_  He turned to me, exasperated. "You weren't really born in a farm even if you told me so. If you were, your dam would have taught you everything and you would have known that _THAT IS A TRAILER!!!"_  He stomped off.

    It was my turn to sigh. I'd told him that I was born on a breeding farm, to save him asking many questions that I didn't know the answers to, and to save the bother of explaining everything to him. And so far, it had worked fine, at least until I had began making my mistakes.

   "Fine, it's a trailer." I mumbled. It didn't make any difference to me anyway whether it was a trailer or a van. 

   Sir Peppero was the human expert; he prided himself in knowing almost everything about them, and he intended to make me follow in his footsteps. Unfortunately for me, his unwilling, ignorant, philosophical student. He'd already told me at least a hundred thousand times that I was too *(see all of the listed above)* for my own good.  Whatever philosophical means. And I had only been here for 2 moons. 

   Today began like any other. We were standing by the fence, waiting for the humans to arrive. At least, he was standing there waiting, while I was standing there keeping him company. All because he had insisted.  

   The humans had left me alone so far. If they came to get Sir Peppero, they treated me as if I wasn't there. They came for him almost every morning. He said that it was because he was a track horse, and needed at the track. Whatever a track was.

   I had just begun to wonder if the humans had bought me for a lawn ornament when we heard the usual whistle that meant that the humans were calling him. I pricked up my ears and turned around. 

  Instead of the one human, there were two humans today. With two lead lines. One of them whistled again, and Sir Peppero trotted to the fence. I followed(wasn't it obvious that they wanted me to?) and allowed the line to be clipped to my halter.

      "That's Chaya." Sir Peppero whickered as we were urged into a walk. "Which one?" I asked. " The one holding you," he answered. I glanced at the human from the corner of my eye.

     Sir Peppero's human flicked his line and he broke into a trot. I trotted too.

    " Why does he not walk at my left side like he does at yours and at all the other horses?"    

    " It's because they want us to walk beside each other. Now be quiet, I want to listen to them talking." 

     I sighed. Just another show of Sir-Peppero-bossiness.

     After a moment, he turned his black and white head and said," You're being trained today. And for your information, Chaya is a female."

     Oh. I turned my head and studied _her_ again. 

     " How do you tell them apart?" 

     " Their manes, you idiot. The males have their manes short. The females have theirs long, at least longer than the males'." 

   A memory rose in my mind. "But what if they don't have any manes at all?" There had been a bald human at the auction.    

   Sir Peppero looked startled. I supposed that his previous students had never asked him any questions before. Especially questions like this one.

  "Uh...erm…uh, they're neither." he said hurriedly. I wasn't fooled; he had just made that up. And whoever heard of the _neither_ gender, a third gender for humans?

   He listened some more. " Chaya's been assigned to breaking you. They need to go fast, so that you can catch up with the rest of the yearlings."

     I got curious. " What do they want to do with me?"

     Sir Peppero rolled his eyes. " They want to race you. This is as racing and breeding farm, just in case you haven't noticed." 

    "I'm off to the track," he added as his human led him away. My human led me into a unoccupied paddock and closed the gate behind us. I pulled a little at the line. She reached out. I could see her hand coming closer and closer to me. When she touched me, I flinched. I'd expected a sharp blow, because that was what I always got whenever I pulled at the line or bridle. Instead, she scratched my ears. Her hand slid down my head and she patted my neck.

   The human turned and walked to the center faced me. She shook the line and took out a whip. 

    The painful memories that I had of the whip came rushing back into my mind.

    I went wild.

    Neighing shrilly, I reared and bolted away. The line to my halter grew taut and I stopped, trembling. 

   The human came forward and raised the whip again. I yanked at the line in panic, my eyes fixed on her hands. The human stopped and lowered her whip.

   She was staring at me, as if seeing me for the first time in a new light. Then, she carefully, slowly, laid the whip down on the ground, making sure that I could see everything clearly, and stepped away from it. 

  I relaxed a bit. If she was going to use the whip on me, there was no way she could close the distance between the whip and her, and pick it up without me noticing first and bolting.

  I kept my eyes fixed on the whip. "It's ok boy," came her voice. Her voice sounded different from the human males', different from my previous trainer. It was soft and light, and full of reassurance. I relaxed some more.

   The human who had trained me before had used a sharp, bored tone, as if I were a complete ninny and he wanted to get it over with, sometimes raising his voice if I made a mistake. This human sounded as if this were a perfectly ordinary day, we were going for a walk, and she was telling me where to met her.

   The human girl continued talking. "No one's gonna hurt you. Go on, relax. It's alright… " I continued listening, even though I couldn't understand what she was saying. Her voice was gentle and coaxing, and I found myself calming down against my will. My tail went down, my lips closed down over my teeth, and my pinned back ears pricked up. But I was still wary and alert, and if she made any sudden movement, I would bolt again. 

   The human was pulling at the line, gathering it in, and I followed it closer, and still closer, until I was right next to her. She reached up again and scratched my ears with one hand, while the other crept down into her pocket and brought something up.

   I sniffed the something. It was bright orange, and when the human pressed it against my muzzle, I opened my mouth and sank my teeth into it. The something broke into two pieces with a crunch. 

   It tasted nice, and I looked for more of it, attempting to poke my nose in her pocket. The human made a mouth-noise that sounded…different. I couldn't place where I had heard it before, until I remembered my mother making the same mouth-sound, only hers had sounded a lot different from the human's. 

  The human was laughing.

   "That's a carrot," she said.

   Ah, the sweet, bright orange stick now had a name. 

   The human fed me another piece of carrot, and then unclipped my line. I pranced away. For the first time since my capture, I made a peace treaty with a human, although I didn't think she knew it. If she would not use the whip on me, I would be obedient to her. 

   The human spread her arms and twirled around. She looked like an eagle, like the ones back home. Then, human dove toward me. I jumped out of the way. She turned and dove for me again. I fled.

   I was running, but not running my fastest. Just fast enough to stay ahead of her, but close enough to almost let her catch me. It became a game. She chased, I ran. Then, I ran faster, spun on my heels and dove for her. It became the other way around. 

   For the first time in my life, I was playing with a human.

   As the days went by, I began to look forward to the Chaya's visits. (I'd started calling her 'Chaya' after being soundly nipped and scolded by Sir Peppero for not calling her by her name. _You can't keep on calling all the grooms 'humans'…call them by their names! The human who comes with Chaya is called Dick, and you have to learn the others'…its really impolite…If I ever catch you again, you watch out…)_ Every morning, I would stand with Sir Peppero at the fence and wait for her to come. When she came, I would be led into an empty paddock. She would usually ask me to trot, walk, or canter around and around her a few times, which at first I grudgingly, then later, willingly, did. 

    I began to trust her. I wasn't that wary or tense anymore whenever humans were around. And I'd learned to recognize her signal; a whistle, and would go to her if called.

   At first, play time was longer than train-time. Then, she began to gradually increase the time I was worked at the longe line, and decrease the time we spent playing. I didn't mind. The whip was usually present, but it was lying at her feet or hanging on the fence. At first, whenever I passed it, I would jump or skitter, keeping as far away as possible from it. Then, I'd decided that as long as it was a good distance from me, I didn't mind it being there. And one day, finally, I'd gotten so used to it lying there that I didn't pay it any attention at all. 

    There came the time when we didn't play any more, but went straight to work the moment I was led into the paddock. And there was a lot of work to be done. I still wasn't sure of the commands 'walk', 'trot', and etc, and the human made sure that I understood them. We were still using a halter and a longe line. It was now 14 moons since I came.

   Then, one day, my halter was taken off when we were in the paddock. I was puzzled, until I saw the bridle in her hands. Instinctively, I backed away. Images were flashing before my eyes, memories of the bridle being shoved into my mouth and the straps forced on my head, the reins being yanked right and left until the corners of my mouth bled, the heavy bit weighing on my tongue and my teeth until I couldn't swallow…

   Chaya was still coming nearer. I tensed. My ears swept back, and I bared my teeth. She sat on the ground a few feet from me and started playing with the bridle. I pressed myself against the fence and watched the bridle carefully.

   After a few minutes, it was obvious that it wasn't doing any harm to the human. But of course, I told myself. It was made by humans after all. Chaya got up and laid the bridle along with the whip at the fence. She clipped the line on me and urged me into a walk. I fixed my eyes on both whip and bridle. After a while, she let me loose and lifted the whip from the fence. I stiffened, ready to bolt if she came nearer. Chaya did come nearer. Somehow, I didn't bolt.

   She held out the whip for me to sniff. I leaned backward as far away as I could without taking a step. The whip came closer, until it touched my muzzle. I flinched, remembering the lash of the whip biting onto my back. This whip, however, was different. It was soft and cool when I pressed my nose on it, and it didn't look like it was capable of harming anybody. It smelled of humans; my nostrils filled with their scent.

   "See," she said, rubbing the whip on my face. "It won't hurt you. It's ok, its just a whip, and I won't ever use it on you…" I stood still. My mind was racing. The whip hurt when Jim used it, but it didn't hurt when Chaya used it. Then the question of whether the whip caused pain didn't really lie with the whip at all; it was the _human_ who used the whip, who decided whether to cause pain or not….the _humans_ were the ones… the whip was just a strip of leather and without someone holding it…on its own, it was nothing… I could step on it, trample it, bite it, and it won't do anything to me unless there was a human holding the other end…then that meant…

   I swept my gaze to the bridle lying on the fence. That meant that the bridle wouldn't hurt me at all either, if it was just a bridle, like the whip was just a whip …  

    I didn't see her take the bridle from the fence, but I did feel it when she pressed the bit on my face. "This is a bridle," she said, "See, it jingles…it won't hurt you either…look, its nice and soft, …you  don't have to be scared of it…" 

    A few minutes later, she was slipping it over my head, doing the straps, and I was standing still. This bit tasted different, _felt_ different from the one I'd used before. It was very light, and seemed to be made of two pieces linked together. I mouthed the bit, listening to it jingle, as Chaya clipped on the line and backed away.

   She raised the whip in one hand, holding the line in her other. I tensed. The whip went up and I flinched. Instead of coming down on my hocks, however, it just touched the ground before she flicked it again. "Trot," she said.

   I began to trot, keeping an eye out for the whip. All in all, even though my fear had all but disappeared, I still didn't like it too close to me." Walk." I slowed down and walked. " Whoa." I stopped. Simple as that. I had learned to recognize the mouth sounds before. 

   Chaya now took off the line and was now teaching me to obey the reins. She walked beside me, and gently pulled the reins right and left, saying the voice command as she did. 

   We went fast, because this was just a review; I'd already learned some of the commands, if not all, at the farm before I was sold here.

   Soon, she didn't need to say anything, and I would obey the reins. 

   The lesson ended with her showing me the saddle and letting me sniff it, though she took it away before I could decide to see what it tasted like.

    Later, when I'd been groomed, I was led back to the paddocks, but instead of being put in mine, I was put in with the other yearlings. Chaya smiled and waved and walked away before I could run after her and tell her that she had made a mistake.

     Someone nipped me and I turned. The yearlings milled around, looking at me closely. They gave way to the large black colt who had bitten me before. "So," he said, " the half-blood part-breed arrives." He was staring at me, sizing me up. I glared back. My mother was right. Thoroughbreds were proud after all.

   "Call me Steele," he tossed back over his shoulder as he trotted away. The other yearlings sidled nearer. "Don't mind him," one of the fillies whispered, casting an anxious look over her shoulder. "He's a loudmouth; always acting the boss just because he's the fastest. Or at least he thinks so…" She shook her head and moved away. The others drifted off, except for a caramel bay colt who came to walk beside me. He told me his name: Sandstorm and asked mine. I gave him my real name, the one my mother gave me, not the one that was written in my papers or what the humans used. 

   "Is it true that you're a half-blood?" he asked. "Sorry," he added quickly when I turned to glare at him. 

    "Yeah," I sighed. "What's the big deal about it anyway? I mean, if I'm half-half, so what? I'm still a horse, not a three-headed monster from space…"

    " Steele doesn't take it that way." Sandstorm whickered. " He thinks that all half-breeds, and even other pure blooded breeds, are inferior to Thoroughbreds. The rest of us don't. There're only a few of them pure-blood fanatics left today anyway. There used to be a lot of them a long time ago, but they changed their mind when a Thoroughbred with Arabian blood started winning and became famous."

   _Thoroughbred with Arabian blood…_ I'd heard that phrase before. "What was her name?" I asked. 

  Sandstorm stared. " How did you know that it was a she?" 

   I shook my head." Just guessing. What was her name?"

   "Bella."

    I froze.

    "Why?" the colt asked.

    " She was my mother."

     It was his turn to stand stock-still.

     "_What?! Are you serious?!"_

     "Yeah, I am." I swished my tail in annoyance. What was the big deal anyway? 

      " We-ell,…" he hesitated. " Well, she won every single race she ran in, and was defeated only once, by a nose, when she ran in the Distaff. So, if you're her son, you must be pretty fast yourself…I mean, with those bloodlines…that was why the boss bought you, you know, because of your bloodlines…he'd heard somewhere that a son of Bella existed, and so he bought you…he was play down your mustang blood, hoping to breed from you if you didn't make it at the track… "

    Oh.

    " So then, she ran away and nobody knew where she was anymore. That was years and years ago," he added to my questioning look. "And then, she had you, and you were caught, and now you're here."

   I sifted through what my mother had told me about herself. "Do you know anything about the Black? My mother mentioned him a couple of times and…well, we might be related…"

   He thought for a moment. "I guess so. Everybody here does, because even though some of the horses died long ago, the stories are passed down from dam to foal, and they're very accurate. 

   The Black was an Arabian stallion who got in a shipwreck and was rescued by a kid, or rather, he rescued the kid …and….um… its something like that anyway. To make a long story short, he was very fast and very famous, and he had lots and lots of foals, but that was a long, long time ago, and well, all of those horses are dead now, because that was a _really_ long time ago…and your mother was the descendant, his last descendant, the last horse through whom his blood runs…until you…" 

    He glanced at me. "What about your father?"

     " He was a mustang stallion, the fastest and the best of all the wild stallions in the open ranges." 

     That was all that I told him that night, even though he stuck by my side and kept on asking me. 

    I told him more in the afternoons when we were standing head to tails swishing our tails in each other's faces to keep the flies away. I told him almost everything about the wonderful life with the herd.

   In exchange, he told me everything about the yearlings that he knew. There were five colts, including him and me, and three fillies. 

   Steele was the boss, the mean one who usually got his own way and bullied the others around at the water trough. 

   The two Phoenixes–Golden Phoenix and Fire Phoenix–both chestnuts– were half brothers, with the same sire but different dams. They always ran together, and were almost twins.

   Then, there was him, Sandstorm. He was a caramel bay, the only caramel bay. And he was also a loner. Until I came, or so he told me. We'd hit it right off the moment I came. He was so much like Thunder, except that Thunder was dapple-gray.

      The smallest filly, Rapunzel, had a rich, dark, seal brown coat. She was quiet, and was always tailing Steele. She usually had a blank look in her eyes, and gave one-worded answers to your questions that weren't really answers at all.  

   Marionette was a tall, bay filly with a wide blaze. She usually ran with Moon, the creamy filly.

    Moon was her nickname–her real name was Moon Dancer. She was descended from Native Dancer – that was why she was called her name. 'Moon', because her creamy coat and shining silver mane and tail glowed and shined like moonlight, and 'Dancer' because of her blood and because of the way she galloped, running so gracefully that her hooves didn't seem to touch the grass. Or at least, that was the explanation Sandstorm gave me anyway.  

   And finally, there was me. 

   All of the yearlings were already broken to the saddle, and I could sense a wall of scorn between us because I still wasn't. That partially changed my resolution of doing everything against the humans. That was what I'd first planned. The other half that helped me realize my situation and seal my determination…I found that out a few days later.

    Instead of going to the paddock that day, which was today, I was put in one of the box stalls in the stable.   

   "So, did you like your week with the yearlings?" Chaya asked, letting herself in and sitting down on the floor. I could hardly believe it. Chaya was talking to _me, _a _horse_, as if I were a human! "That wasn't a mistake; Mr. Sims has been watching you and he figures that after two weeks, you can go in among the yearlings without doing them any damage. You'll be staying with them now, and then you'll be moved to the barn when winter comes and when we start training you on the track.  

   Mr. Sims has promised to promote me to exercise rider if I can train you to bear a rider. He doesn't like me," she made a face, " and he knows that being part mustang and all, and being so wild, the chances of you being ridden was pretty close to zero.  So there goes my chance of becoming an exercise rider and getting my apprentice license, unless I find work in another farm, which I don't want to do, or unless," she glanced at me from the corner of her eyes, " unless _you_ behave and cooperate."

   She pointed to another human standing outside. "This is Dick," she said. "He's the other groom in charge of the yearlings."

   I studied him. From the length of his mane, this must be a male. 

   Dick reached up and scratched my ears. I sniffed his hand. He came into the stall and handed Chaya a blanket. I kept a good distance away from him, eying him warily. I did not trust strangers.

   Chaya let me smell the blanket and rubbed it on my face and neck. The blanket was soft, like a foal's coat. She moved around and to my side, behind me. I shifted uneasily; I didn't like any one, stranger or friend going behind my back, where I couldn't see them. Dick reached out and took hold of my halter. Chaya put the blanket on me. I stepped away and it slid off. Chaya picked it up, talking all the time. " See, I'm going to put this blanket on your back… its just a blanket…its ok…" I sidestepped. "Whoa! Whoa…..that's it…nice and easy…" The blanket stayed on for a couple of seconds longer than last time. 

    The sensation was strange. It felt like I was being dressed in some kind of human clothing. The strangeness went away after a while, and I relaxed and let the blanket stay on.

    Chaya put her hands on my back. She put a little of her weight on me. I turned my head and tried to see what she was doing. Chaya continued talking in a low voice. " Its just me boy…I'm here…just getting on your back…" She put more weight on me. I shifted my weight again. Dick tightened his hold. I was getting nervous. What was Chaya doing up there, on my back? 

   I skittered sideways, and Chaya fell. I lipped her hair in apology as she scrambled up. Strange. She didn't seem angry. Dick led me around the stall a few times, then pulled the blanket on me again.

   This time, when Chaya leaned into me heavily, I braced my feet. Soon, she was on her stomach again, on my back. Dick clucked me into a walk. I could feel Chaya's fingers on my mane. 

     I was fighting two battles. I had the instinctive urge to buck her right off. But at the same time, I didn't want to hurt her. I threw up my head. Chaya wobbled. Her fingers tightened on my mane and she swung her leg hard. Before I knew what had happened, she was sitting on my back. 

   Before I could decide to buck her off, she slid to the ground, panting. "Good," she said, and slapped my neck hard. Maybe a bit too hard, because I jumped and crashed into Dick. 

    It went on for the next several moons, until I was letting Chaya stay on my back for a longer time. At least, longer than one second, which was usually how long it took before I bucked.

    Then, one day, instead of going into the stable, I was led past it–and into the paddock again. And there, on the fence, was a saddle.

   I snorted in surprise and became suspicious again. I fixed my eyes on the saddle, and didn't take them off even when Chaya worked me a couple of times at a trot. 

   I continued eying the saddle even when Chaya got on my back again and Dick led me around and around the paddock at the walk and trot. I didn't really notice it when Chaya slipped off, because Dick was feeding me a carrot stick, but I did notice it when I felt the cool leather touch my back.

   I jumped sideways. Chaya caught the saddle before it hit the ground and approached me again. She let me sniff it, rubbed it up and down my neck, and put it on my back again. My hindquarters flew up; the saddle flew up too. 

  Chaya spent the next fifteen minutes getting the saddle from the ground again and again. Because it kept flying off. Because I kept bucking it off. 

   By the end of the morning, the saddle was on me, and the girth around my stomach – only because they'd finally managed to get it on my back. But I was determined, though, that even though they had triumphed this once, the next victory would be mine. I would not let them ride me _with_ the saddle. 

   Fine. They had expected me to go berserk from wearing the saddle. Fine. I would prove the opposite by wearing it, behaving nicely(definition: no kicks or bites)and being calm and acting normal. Except for the catch that the saddle was going to take the worst of what I planned to do…     

   You may ask why I was doing this, why I was intentionally going against the humans' wishes when I could have easily obeyed them. 

   I was doing it; I had to do it or feel like a complete puppet. "Wind do this." "Wind do that." I was sick of it.

   I was a wild horse, and I would remind them of that until the day I left, which I promised myself, wouldn't be too far off.  

*~*~*

   "When are they ever going to take it off? When are _you _going to get it off?"  Marionette asked. She came over, Moon at her side, sank her teeth into the saddle leather, and tugged hard.

   " I don't know," I sighed. It had been 3 moons since I came back to the paddock with the saddle on my back. And so far, I'd rolled on it(and heard it break with a snap too,), gotten it coated with mud when it had rained, convince the others to take a bite out of it and see how it tasted, and took bites out of it myself. I'd also managed to somehow dunk it in the water trough.

   Unfortunately, dunking hadn't been that good idea after all, as I soon found out, because it had somehow loosened the girth so that instead of the saddle being on my back, it now hung upside down, on my stomach, with the girth on my back.

   However, it had managed to do more good than bad than I'd first thought; for one, I had now grown used to wearing it, and for another, it helped break the ice between me and the other yearlings.

   They were now much friendlier, and were on speaking terms with me. The animosity had almost vanished.

   The moment they had seen me, they had trotted over to me, asking why I had it on, and in the case of Rapunzel, why I was wearing it here and why it was not returned back to the tack room in the first place.

    The tack room, it seems, contains all the tack. I'd learned to call it 'tack' because I'd been threatened by a kick from Sir P if I called it 'stuff' one more time. As in, "the stuff humans put on us…" I'd also gotten a nip for calling Chaya 'the human' again.

   Sir P. I'd begun calling Sir Peppero that, under influence of the yearlings, particularly Moon, who explained to me(to my conscience, actually) that, even though Sir P asked us not to call him that, and was stern and gruff when we did, he really didn't mind it at all . 

   When I was first moved into the yearlings' paddock, I'd worried that he'd mind being all alone again. But, as he reassured me, "All foals need to grow up sometime. They become independent sooner or later and have to be separated from their elders."  My reaction had been, _What!?! He still thinks of me as a foal!?!!?! And doesn't he think that I already _know_ that _all _foals grow up? What, am I brainless or something?"_

    But, he'd also told me that he was quite glad that I was out from under his care; he didn't have to keep on correcting my mistakes. 

   We sometimes talked over the fence; it was him who was usually calling me over to give me advice about how to behave; "_I saw you today; you bucked Chaya off…";_ or berating me on the latest thing that I had done to the saddle; "_What do you think you're doing?! Rolling on it like that, thank goodness it was an old saddle or Chaya would have your neck for breaking it; it had been used for breaking me, and I'm more than fourteen years old…" _; and all the works.

   This whole saddle business was like a game–a game of stubbornness. Chaya had once told me that she was very stubborn; I would prove that I was more stubborn than her. And so, every morning, I would prance up to meet her at the fence, letting her see that the saddle wasn't bothering me at all, and watch her surprised expression with satisfaction.

   One morning, however, Chaya's expression had been unusually worried and her voice tense and stiff. Her nervousness and tenseness had transferred to me too. And that day, there was a new human at the fence with Dick – a strange human who I remembered vaguely as the one who had caught me when I was still a wild little weanling. I heard her call him Mr. Sims.

   Sims ran his hands up and down my legs, and sent Chaya to get another saddle, and Dick to get Sir Peppero. He began running his fingers up and down on my face, checking my teeth, feeling my mouth. 

   Up close, he had slanting eyes and looked like a snake who was watching me, waiting for the right moment to pounce on me and devour me in one gulp. 

   I shuddered and stepped away. He followed me and started talking. "I know you, boy. I've watched you when you were a foal, and I've watched you when you were being worked. You were a lot like her."

   He paused and his hand went up the scar on my neck. "You see, I watched you dam as a foal too. I've watched her when she was just a newborn standing on spindly legs, and later on the track, when she blazed right through other horses and won almost every single race she ran in. You see, I was her trainer." I snorted, startled.  

   " I was there too, when she ran away. Her owners had threatened to fire me if I didn't get her back; she was one of the most valuable horses in their stable. 

    I didn't get her back. For that, I was fired, and my name, my reputation that I worked so hard to build, was dissolved and I was disgraced. For the next ten years, I traveled all over the country, a ruined man, looking for jobs as a trainer. There were plenty, but then, what owners would want to trust their horses in my care after what happened?" He was now running his hands all over my body. Why was he telling me this?

   "I was reduced to going around the West, looking for jobs in stables rounding up mustangs. Imagine me, trainer of Triple Crown winners, _rounding up useless wild horses?_ But I knew that I wasn't wasting my time. I vowed to get your mother back." I had an ominous feeling that something was going to happen. Something not good. 

   "And I did. Not only did I get your mother, but I caught her foal too. _You_. I called a racing farm, any farm that would listen to me talk. This farm was the only one that believed my story of having an old, famous racehorse mare and her promising young colt. I arranged to have you and your mother sold to this farm through the auction. But then, just weeks after I caught her, your mother slipped through my fingers yet again. Now my plan of getting my revenge was denied. Revenge had been very simple; the denial of the very thing your mother prized most–her freedom. I planned to keep her hobbled and tied and let her watch the other horses gallop free in their paddocks, let her suffer for what she had done to me. I would cut her hamstring, prevent her from ever running again, and watch her hobbling and limping around for the rest of her days, a cripple.

   When she escaped again, I would have gone after her. But I realized, that would have been a waste of time. Because you see, I now have _you._  There would be no need to go looking for your mother while I have you. Think of the irony; the mother knows no master but her son is a slave. Let her run free; no matter; I have her colt with me. Let her stay wild and worry about what happens to her colt. Let her heart break when she sees you proudly wearing a saddle and a bridle, proudly carrying a rider on your back. Let her wish she was never born when I ride you and together, we catch her. 

   I will train you; train your mind to become a tame horse. Then let her see what her own son has become like; the very image, the symbol of the life she had hated.

    Do you understand?" He had me by the halter. We were face to face, and I could see something in his eyes, something that was disgusting, something that was disturbing. It was definitely creepy. Oh yes, I understand, I wanted to tell him. I understand very well. He was going to tame me, break me to tack, then use me to catch my mother.   

    From that moment on, I would grow to hate and dislike him for the rest of my life. It would be a slow hate, not like the rages when I was with Jim, but a slow resentment, a slow determination, a slow rebellion. I was uneasy when I was with him, and back at the stall or the paddock, I smoldered.

   " Other people may think me crazy, but I know what I'm doing. Horses aren't stupid like most humans make them out to be. They are intelligent, and they too, have feelings. I won't take out my revenge on _her._ I will do it on _you_. It hurts more this way, don't you think? And I want her to get hurt for what she did to me. Oh yes, I want her to get hurt, very hurt, so hurt that she'll wish that she's dead…" He smirked, released my halter, and stepped away. I stepped away too, dazed. This man _is_ crazy. 

   Sims smiled. I felt like throwing up when he fixed his gaze on me. 

   From that moment, I resolved to do anything that would go against him.

   I heard him telling Chaya, who had returned, that this was her last chance of breaking me. Dick was there with Sir Peppero too, though I didn't know why. 

   This was my chance of getting back. Sims had obviously expected me to go wild the moment the saddle was taken off and a new one was put on. He expected me to buck off anyone riding me too. He expected that he would be the one to break me, not Chaya. Then, he would get the credit. I would prove him wrong.

   When Chaya slipped on the bridle, undid the buckle and slid the old, broken saddle off, I held my breath and stayed in place. When she slid on the other, intact saddle, I stood still.  I glanced at Sims and Dick from the corner of my eye and could see that they were surprised.

   When Chaya leapt lightly onto my back, I waited calmly for her to get settled. She reached for the reins and told me to walk. I walked. She asked for a trot. I trotted. She pulled back a little and said 'whoa'. I stopped. 

  I felt jubilant. I was defying Sims under his very own nose, and he couldn't do anything to stop me.

  That was all we did that day at training. Doing those commands over and over again, while Sims watched and fumed and made sure that I was ready to learn the next phase, the changing of leads and direction.

   From that time on, even though Sims wasn't present in our sessions, I learned quickly and progressed rapidly. Soon, I was turning right and left, and going into a trot or a canter at the merest pressure from Chaya's legs. 

   She didn't need to tell me orally anymore what to do; she only had to cluck or press her heels against my side and I would go into whatever gait she asked.  

   I was soon transferred, together with the other yearlings, into the stable, where we were given our own stalls. Roomy though these stalls were, I would always miss the paddock.

   I was the nearest to the door, with Moon across the aisle from me, Sandstorm at the stall beside me, and the others spread out for the rest of the stable.

   We were moved from the paddock and into the wide, yearling ring where Sims oversaw all the training of the yearlings. I was to join them too, and there, we would be galloped around and around, with a track horse, usually Sir Peppero, developing our strength and our muscles. 

   We were put into pairs, with Sandstorm and Marionette, Rapunzel and Steele, the two Phoenix brothers together, and me and Moon, the idea being that the calmer, quieter horses would spread their influence on the more temperamental ones, thereby achieving a balance of tempers. 

   It worked well with the others, but unfortunately, it didn't work much on Moon and me. 

   I'd grown to like her; I'd grown to like everyone, but somehow, this was different. In the paddock, I would sometimes go into a daze, my eyes fixed on her, not knowing that I had my eyes fixed on her, watching her prance and run, her mane and tail flashing, until Sandstorm nudged me back into reality. I would sometimes catch her staring at me too. 

   Now, however, when we had to run side by side in the training circle, I couldn't help my playful spirit rubbing off on her. Normally quiet, she would prance up to Chaya and nip her ponytail from behind, or aim a kick at the fence when she thought no one was looking. Then, she would turn, catch my eye, and grin. 

   Steele, I found, had grown slightly jealous. We were, or at least, had been on speaking terms, but he started being nasty in the paddock, glaring and pointedly leaving me out when we were planning new antics.   At first, I didn't know why, until Sandstorm pulled me aside after a session when we were waiting for the humans, and whispered in my ear that until I came, Steele had been the fastest yearling around. No one could beat him, or even come close to matching him when it came to speed.

  "And then, you turned up." Sandstorm's nose tickled my ear. "You were as fast as he is, and you showed signs of having the potential to beat him. He's scared of you; he doesn't want anyone to be faster than he is. He can get dangerous. You may think that he's a bully and all that, but deep down inside, he quakes. And there's this thing with Moon." Sandstorm paused. "Everyone knows that he likes Moon, and Moon likes you." 

   I pulled away, stunned and surprised. "She _what?"_  

   Sandstorm nodded. "You should know, the way she sometimes can't keep her eyes off you."

   I shook my head and went into a trot. Chaya and Dick were at the gate calling us to our evening feed. Sandstorm fell in beside me.

   So Moon liked me after all. 

   "That's impossible."

    Sandstorm shook his head. "No it isn't."

   We were now being galloped with the humans sitting high up on our backs. And not long after that, Chaya let herself into my stall early one morning to groom me, grinning. 

   "I've been promoted," she smiled, took out her brushes and started to brush my coat. "Mr. Sims keeps his word. I'm now exercise riding; I'll be getting my apprentice license sometime next year. Then, after 35 wins, I'll be a jockey!" she slapped my neck good-naturedly. I threw up my head, startled. 

   She led me out, hooked me to crossties in the aisle, tacked me up, swung up into the saddle, and rode me outside and into the ring.

   By now, I wasn't that terrified of anything anymore. I 'd gotten used to the sights and sounds of the stable, and wasn't shying and starting at every single shadow. 

  As Sims had said, I was becoming tame. 

   In that sense only. 

   In the ring, I was as wild as I had been the first day I was brought into the human world. When I was being tacked up, I sidestepped and wouldn't stand still. Then we were being warmed up at the track, for we were being ran at the track now, I bucked and snorted and gave Chaya a hard time. In the stable, the grooms had to watch out for my gifts to them: my nips. 

   It got to the point where Chaya glared at me and told me that I'd better watch out or I would get shipped off to another farm.

   I didn't listen to her, of course.

   But somehow, as the winter passed, I found myself getting bored with my antics. By the time January came and I became a two-year-old, I was almost as well behaved as the rest of the yearlings. The side-stepping ended, the prances and nips and bucks nearly vanished. They did not _entirely_ vanish; I just said that they _nearly_ vanished. As in, they were few and far between.

     I remembered overhearing Chaya telling Sims that I'd finally become tame. I wanted to laugh and tell her that I may have _looked_ tame, I may have _acted_ tame, but I would never, ever, ever, _be_ tame.

   As I'd remember Golden saying to my mother, I had grown out of it.

   Golden. Thunder. Mother. Northlight. …. The list went on and on. How could I tell them how much I missed them? Now, more than ever, I wanted to go back home. But I had to wait…my mother had told me to, and she was very wise, wiser than I'd thought…and so I would wait, and wait, until I was four… I dreamed of the day when I would make my escape. And maybe, just maybe, I would bring Moon back home with me. 

A/N: Thanks to all reviewers!

Mystery008 – Wow, a foal. That's great! Thanks for sharing the news. What's the colt's name? What is he going to be when he grows up? If you could, do you want to train him?  


	7. Real Training

Disclaimer: I don't own:

1. The Black

and

2. Oakwood Acres(if there's an Oakwood Acres) 

  I stuck my head out of my stall door and whinnied a good morning to everybody in the barn.

  The answers came back; Sandstorm's, Moon's, Marionette's, and everybody else. Except for Steele's. 'Everybody else' meant the rest of the yearlings. Or rather, two-year-olds.

  This was my second winter in life, and I'd been in captivity for seventeen full moons.

  Since we were now two-years-old and were two-year-olds, and since two-years-old two-year-olds began intensive training for the track, we'd been moved into the training, which was closer to the track than the paddocks.

   Dick and Chaya came stomping into the barn, blowing on their hands. They grabbed grooming kits from outside our stalls, entered our stalls, and began grooming us.

  They usually worked in the stalls across the aisle from each other. Chaya usually came into my stall first since I was nearest to the barn door, and Dick was usually seen in the stall across the aisle from mine, which was Moon's.

   Today was like any other, the routine that I had come to know so well in only a few weeks. Chaya picked up the brush and began pushing it in smooth, long strokes across my shoulder, working all the way up to my head and feet before going over to my other side.

   I leaned into the brush, not yet that awake. There wasn't only _one_ brush; there were several, because the one that was used to make my coat clean had to be cleaned itself. It was all very confusing.

  She scratched my ears and headed to the next stall beside mine, Rapunzel's. Three other grooms, whose names I hadn't yet found out since I was new here, came yawning into the stable. Since Sims didn't believe in feeding until after workouts, one of them led me out to the aisle and clipped me to crossties. He tacked me up and handed the reins to Chaya, who had come back from the grooming and had on her helmet.

  She vaulted onto my back lightly and the groom tugged me out into the cold air. I raised my tail in protest, not really wanting to leave the warmth of the barn.

  Sims was standing with Ken, the assistant trainer. He was holding a stopwatch. He motioned us onto the track just as some of the other two-year-olds were led out, their coats gleaming.

  I stepped onto the track, my breath misting in front of my face. The ground was hard, but not so hard that workouts had to be canceled, like last week, and the week before that. Today had been the first chance to stretch our legs for many days. 

  Chaya nudged me lightly with her heels and I broke into a trot along the outside rail, the wrong way around the track, warming up. I had been wanting to go back to sleep before, but now I was wide-awake. Something like electricity went through my body, and my skin tingled with it. I was suddenly charged full of energy and power, and I was dying to use it. 

   Somewhere up my back, I heard Chaya chuckle. "Oats do wonders."

   What were oats? Before I knew it, we were at the half-mile post and Chaya was turning me around. I took a deep breath and suddenly, I felt alive, very, very much alive. 

   Sims raised his hand and Chaya's seat left the saddle. His hand came down. "Go!" Chaya cried. I didn't need the light kick she gave me to leap forward into a gallop. She used her left rein to keep me on the inside rail as we pounded up the track. I flicked back an ear and could hear other horses running behind me. The white rail whipped by, a ribbon. Someone drew up beside me. I rolled my eye right. It was Dick on Moon. I could feel another horse breathing down my rump, and I had a feeling it was Steele. Steele wasn't to be trusted.

   I tugged at the bit. Chaya tightened her fingers on the reins, telling me to wait. I tried to get the bit in my teeth. No luck. She was alert today, not like that morning a few weeks ago when I'd raced away and scared the wits out of her. I'd gotten the biggest telling off in my life, and I hadn't dared to try it since. Until now, that is. And somehow, I wanted to do it again.

   We must've passed the pole where Chaya was supposed to let me out somewhere, because I felt her hands suddenly loosen the reins. My ears went back, listening, as I lengthened my stride and we put on a spurt of speed. The white ribbon of the rail thinned to a line. The fields and barns flashed past, blurs of green and white and red. 

   We were flying so fast that the wind roared and whistled in my ears and the cold air stung my nostrils. My eyes began watering. 

   Behind me, the other horses kept pace, their hooves pounding the ground. Moon was still running beside me, but there were now two someones running beside her. We were spread out across the track.

   I felt a burning desire to get ahead. My ears flicked forward and I pulled at the bit some more, asking for more rein. Chaya's hands let me out another notch and I swept past, into the lead. We rounded the turn. I rolled my eye back and could see three other horses behind.

   _Now_ I was happy. This was what I usually like best, running in a race(even though this really wasn't a race) with me in the lead. 

   Then, she was sitting back, gathering rein, asking me to stop. _What?_ This soon? But we'd just… 

   I slowed to a canter. Sims was running beside us, with the fence between us, waving his stopwatch. Chaya gathered more rein and I slowed to a trot.

   And _no_, I was _not_ happy. I pulled down my head and bucked. Chaya stayed on. Arghh! I would have to think of something else, she was getting so used to my tricks that she wasn't falling off anymore. And I knew I wasn't supposed to, but making her fall off had been fun.

   I tried to buck again, but she pulled me to a stop, slid down, and led me over to Sims. 

   They were talking when my teeth closed on her hair. She yelped and swung around. Her fingers loosened on the reins for a second, but that was enough time for me to pull free and get a good distance away.

   Chaya went after me. I wasn't worried. Unconfined, they would have a hard time catching me, and if they got close, I could always jump the fence…

   I didn't know what they would do to me when they caught me, but I knew one thing: my playfulness that had supposedly vanished over the past months had returned.

   The humans caught me hours later. It had taken several of them and Sir Peppero to catch me. I'd led them on a chase, but they finally cornered me in one of the paddocks.

   I was going to spend the rest of the day planning something else, but Chaya took me out and rode me on the trails. We trotted and cantered and trotted some more, and not once did she let me gallop. She was saying about it building my muscles and my stamina for the longer races like the Breeder's Cup, or something like that anyway.

   I wasn't really listening; the leaves flying across the path were more interesting.

   This also became routine everyday. Sometimes, the humans would take two or more two-year-olds out together, and they had to bring Sir P to keep us in line.

   Poor Sir P spent half his time snapping at us when we made mistakes (like side-stepping) and the other half barking out orders. 

   But the trail rides worked. Weeks later, I found out that I could go longer distances at full gallop, and I didn't tire that easily anymore. So did the others.

   Aside from training in the track and being ridden in the trails, we were taught some other things too. We had to get used to getting off and on a trailer, and we had to spend at least a night each inside, in preparation for traveling to tracks.   

   The grooms recorded the noise at a real racetrack and played it at the barn so that we wouldn't get scared or distracted when the time came for real races.

   We had to get used to new people and new riders, because we'd meet a lot of strangers at the track, and if ever we were sold, another hotwalker or jockey would be riding us. 

   We practiced using the starting gates at the track every morning, like in a real race. We were taught to break cleanly and evenly, to wear blinkers and hoods, to get used to new sounds, noises, and more trailers.

   The Metal-Man came, with his hammer and forge, took off our old shoes and nailed new shoes on us. These new shoes, I found, made running easier, because we had more traction.

   The vet came, with his syringes and vaccines, and gave us shots. He filed and checked our teeth, ran his hands up and down our legs, and had us walked to and fro.

   A human came, also, with her clipboard, lifting everybody's (the horses) lips and peering at our teeth. Something was put on mine; all the other two-year-olds said that it was my registration number – they'd had theirs when they were still yearlings.

   Because of the bolting incident at the track, I'd been spending the nights in Sir P's paddock. Sims said that I needed to be taught a few manners, and that "that horse has to know how to behave properly." So that I could decide whether to behave properly or not.

   And Sir P was a good teacher.

   Mornings were the same, and afternoons too, except that instead of going back to my stall after training, I was cooled off and turned loose in the paddock again. But now that the paddock next to ours was empty, the two-year-olds being in the barn, I was more lonely than ever.

   During this time, I discovered sugar. Although I didn't know that it was called that at first.

   One morning, after a particularly well-behaved workout (no bucks, no kicks, no mischievous antics of any sort – Dick said it was a miracle that I'd gotten through a workout without taking a bite out of anyone) at the track (Sir P's attitude had been rubbing off on me), Chaya fed me some white stuff that tasted – I don't know, I'd never tasted it before. It had tasted something like the slices of apple I had been given. It had tasted sweet, and I must have looked puzzled because Chaya laughed and said that it was sugar, and that it had been my prize because I had been behaving well.

   And then, one night, something happened that made me not lonely anymore. 

   I'd been standing under the tree, dozing, when someone came running and whistled for me. I whirled and trotted to the fence, as we'd been taught. It was Chaya. She had come in the direction of the 'woods', a line of trees that separated the back pasture from the paddocks, concealed a shallow brook, and through which the riding trails led.

   There was a sense of urgency in her voice, and when she touched me, her fear transferred to me too. She was talking rapidly, and I was growing more apprehensive by the second. 

   Something was wrong, but I didn't know what it was because I couldn't understand what she was saying. 

   "You have to come. They're all inside the barn and they wouldn't come out. You have to call them..., I know they'll listen to you , please, they'll die if you don't …" 

   What did all that mean? The horses were inside the barn and…what?

   I felt her fingers grip my mane, felt her weight as she jumped up and onto my back, felt her knees against my sides as I wheeled and trotted across the grass. She didn't have reins, but something told me to head for the training barns. I broke into a gallop halfway across the paddock. The fence was high, and I would need the speed to take me over it. 

   I'd never jumped it before, and this fence was higher, much higher than the one I had jumped earlier. But I'd been jumping bushes and logs back in the wild, so I'd had plenty of practice. The only problem was, I'd never done it with a rider before …

   If I balked at the last second before lift off, Chaya would go sailing. If I misjudged the distance and we crashed into the fence, we would break our necks or worse. If her weight threw me off balance and my hooves hooked the top rail of the fence… I didn't even want to think about what would happen.

   But there was no time to think, time only to run … I gauged the distance and measured my strides. The wind came and whipped my mane and her hair as my hindquarters pushed and we lifted off from the ground. For an instant, it was like we were flying into the sky. I felt Chaya lift her hands free from my mane, felt her lean forward with me, felt her bounce on my back as the ground rose up to meet me and we hit it with a bone-jarring thud.

   We burst out of the lane and into the clear area before the barn a few seconds later, and I finally saw what Chaya had meant.

   The heat came first. I started to sweat when we got close. Chaya slid off my back as we watched the flames dancing on the roof, mesmerized.

   The training barn was on fire. 

   And from the looks of it, all the horses were still inside.

   Sims was out in front, directing the grooms, lifting buckets of water himself as they tried to control the flames. Above the yells and the noise, I could hear high-pitched terrified whinnies – the calls of the horses inside. They could have come out any time they wanted to; the door-frame of the barn was stone. Stone doesn't burn. 

   The only problem was, they were too terrified to do it.

   But the inside of the barn, the stalls, the beams supporting the roof and the ladder to the hayloft – were made of wood. And wood _does_ burn.

   I gazed at the fire in wonder, almost forgetting why I was here until Chaya yelled in my ear and I started. "Call them!" she was saying. "They wouldn't listen to us! Call them out before the roof collapses!"

   I lifted my head and sent out the loudest neigh I could manage. The horse-calls stopped for a moment, as if their owners were pausing to listen. I neighed again, telling them to come out without words. I felt Sir P come up beside me and call too.

    Our voices were drowned out by the arrival of the fire-trucks. But it was enough. The horses had heard us.

   There was silence for another moment. Then, there was a crashing, thundering sound as the horses broke their stall doors, the clip-clopping of dozens of hooves as they made their way down the aisle, and finally the stream of horses burst out of the stable door, their glossy coats covered with ash and soot, their red-rimmed eyes wide with fear.

   The last horse was barely out of the stable when with a roaring, crashing sound, the whole support of the roof collapsed. The roof caved in.    

  Chaya and Dick reached out to touch them, their fingers playing with their manes, their hands soothing and stroking.

   Sir P and I went among them, touching noses with those we knew, rubbing our faces on the necks of others, letting ourselves be rubbed until we were almost as dirty as they were.

   The horses' fear soon disappeared as they milled around us, stamping their hooves, swishing their tails, snorting their relief. They would have ran away; bolted, in normal circumstances, but then, these weren't normal circumstances. And so they stayed.

   I found Sandstorm huddled with Marionette and Moon. Their blackened coats made them barely recognizable. 

   We watched the firemen fight the fire, and just when the sky turned gray, the last flame was finally put out.

   Since the fire completely destroyed the barns, the horses in training had to be put out in the paddocks, since the in-foal mares and the stallions couldn't be taken out of theirs'.

   That was perfectly fine with me, because I was now back in the paddock with the other two-year-olds.

   The humans still didn't know what started the fire. Moon told me that they had first felt the heat; the stable had become uncomfortably warm. Then came a crackling noise – and they saw flames licking the roof section above the aisle. The fire had spread before they began calling for help and the humans noticed. There had been instant pandemonium. They wanted to, knew that they had to somehow get out of the stable – but they were too wild with fear to really try it. And there was the question of breaking out of their stalls – the hinges and locks were strong. Smoke poured inside and they started choking.

   Then they had heard us neighing. That cleared their minds. The fire had already weakened the stall doors, but it still took some work to ram their way out. The roof had now become a blazing inferno. The support beams started falling at the back of the stable when they burst out of their stalls and made a beeline for the door.  

   Sandstorm couldn't tell me anything; he had been dozing and hadn't even felt the heat until the time when they were already running for fresh air. He had awakened in time, and had been one of the last horses out of the stable. 

   I didn't realize how much I really missed them until I was back with them. 

   But as the weeks passed, I found that maybe I was wrong after all.

   I'd missed everyone – at least everyone that I knew – Sandstorm, Moon, Marionette, Rapunzel, the Phoenix brothers – except for Steele.

   I hadn't known why I had disliked him when we first met, other than for the reasons that he was cold and arrogant. 

   He became sneering too, making cutting remarks and snide comments about my being half-blood. When Sandstorm tried to defend me, Steele attacked him too. 

   We spent more time going off, walking around the wood, doing anything just to stay out of Steele's way. We could have fought him, the two of us together, but somehow, it didn't seem right. His battle was with me alone; he really had nothing against Sandstorm. I was his target. And someday, but not right now, I would get back at him.

   As the days slipped by, I also found myself spending more and more time with Moon. I didn't know why, but we would sometimes end up at the same places at the same time. When this happened, at first, we would turn and make for the main group of two-year-olds almost at once, walking slowly, sometimes talking. But we were soon taking our time, intentionally walking slowly so as not to arrive back too soon. Soon, we were taking detours, going around and around the paddock, crisscrossing the bit of wood that wasn't fenced off, just talking, walking, _anything_, to get away from Steele. 

   Making her laugh was fun. We would spend whole afternoons standing under a tree, head-to-tail swishing away the flies from each other's faces, thinking of ways to bug the humans, specially Chaya and Dick, imagining their reactions, and just laughing.

   Or we would dream up ways to get rid of Steele, whom she hated as much as I do, ways we knew couldn't possibly happen, but were fun to invent anyway. 

   I once asked her why she hated Steele, because she had absolutely no reason to. And her reply had been short and surprising: "I hate him because you do."

   Steele soon noticed us, and would sometimes come over before we left for another of our walks, glaring at me, asking where we were going, what we were doing, and just being very nosy.

   Before long, he was trailing us everywhere we went, hounding our footsteps, so that we tried more than ever to get away.  

   As expected, we soon ran out of ways-to-annoy-Steele or ways-to-annoy-Chaya to enumerate. She told me about her family, which could be traced back to Native Dancer, about life before she was weaned, about how she didn't really want to stay here all her life, but to go out and see the world.  

   I told her about Mother, about Thunder and Raha, about life with the herd and about the time when I was first caught. I showed her the half-hidden scar near my withers. 

   It was night at that time, and we were standing before the small brook in the woods, watching the moon's reflection dance and ripple as the hock-deep water sped over the rocks and pebbles. 

   "I wish I could meet your mother," she nickered softly.

   "You can." I nickered back. " If I could somehow get away, do you want to come with me? We could escape together and I'll bring you to meet the herd. After that, if you still want to, I can bring you back here." 

   She was silent for a moment. Then, I felt her breath on my ear as she whispered, "I would. And I don't want to come back." 

   She wanted to run away and stay with me! 

   That night, the moon had never shone brighter, nor had the sky ever looked more beautiful before. 


	8. The Race

Disclaimer: Iay on'tday nwoay hetay lackBay. Pig Latin for, "I don't own the Black." Pig Latin, where you take the first letter of a word and put it behind the word, then add '-ay'..  
So to all readers: " opeHay ouyay njoyeay eadingray!"  
  
Chapter 7  
February passed in a flurry. I'd filled out over the winter; I'd also developed the tucked-up, sleek look of a racing-fit horse and I was now sixteen hands tall, and still growing.  
At least, that was what Chaya had told me when she measured me that day at the paddock. It was near evening. The air was bitingly cold, and I was the only horse who had trotted to meet her at the fence when she'd whistled.  
The others were standing in a huddle, stamping their feet and blowing out great misty breaths of air.  
"Thanks, boy." Chaya rubbed the blanket over my withers and sent me on my back to the herd. The rebuilding had begun at the burned barn, but we were still standing out in the cold.  
Being at-pasture was fine with me if it was summer time. Not winter time.  
I'd never felt this cold before, because the winters back home had always been much milder, with more sleet, and not with biting winds like this. I shivered and wished for sunlight.  
It came. It was as if something hot was being poured down from the top of my head; at any rate, the warmth spread throughout my body and I was soon as warm from the tip of my nose to my hooves as a wild rabbit curled up in its winter den, sleeping the cold away. I pressed myself against the warm huddle of bodies and fell asleep.  
  
At the track, we were worked harder and pressed to faster times than ever, in preparation for our first races and our introduction to the racing world. The distances in the afternoon trail rides were built up too.  
I first noticed something strange when I was turned out in the paddock after an afternoon trail-ride. There were several new humans standing outside the fence with Sims and another man I'd learned to recognize as our owner. They were talking in low voices, making gesture with their hands.  
They turned to watch as Steele, Sandstorm and I filed into the paddock. Sims let himself in after us and took Moon's halter. He led her over to the visitors, who looked her up and down and shook their heads. He let go of her and turned to get another two-year-old. He led us all one by one over to the humans, and each time, they shook their heads.  
I watched, curious. They were discussing something. One of the visitors, a female, lifted her arm and pointed at Rapunzel. They were still talking as they walked away.  
The visitors were always there the next few days after that. They stood at the rail and watched us gallop in the oval. They walked by the paddock often, watching us when we galloped around. They talked some more in low voices, and watched and watched, their keen eyes observing our every move.  
I remember the date exactly; fourteen moons after they first came, Chaya whistled for us and when we gathered around her, Rapunzel was singled out and led away.  
We didn't mind it, sure that she would be back by evening, or by tomorrow at least.  
We never saw her again.  
Sir P said later that she had been sold to an eventing stable. According to him, the master had needed the money, because of the rebuilding of the burned barn, and he had started to sell off the horses he thought weren't good enough to win huge purses.  
Those days were terrible days; wondering which one of us would be next, running our fastest at the track for fear that we would be deemed too slow and sold off the same way.  
I was with the others; even though what I really wanted was to be free and to go home, I didn't really want to get sold of to someplace else. I was already familiar with this place, and familiarity had always given me security. If I had to choose, I would chooser to stay here. There was a saying, "Better the enemy that you know, than the enemy that you don't know, for if you know your enemy, you will know the outcome of all your battles."  
If I was sold off, what if I went to a place with a trainer like Jim?  
And besides, there was Moon.  
What I'd asked her that night had stayed in my mind. Was she serious? Did she really want to run away with me? I wanted to ask her, but if she was only kidding, she would be horribly embarrassed and our easy friendship would be ruined. If she was serious, it was up to her to say so. Until then, I would wait. And while I waited, February whirled away and March came.  
  
Chaya led me to a mounting block one morning, her step extra-bouncy, and her voice extra-cheerful. She had gotten her apprentice license recently. She could now ride in races, but she would have to have 35 wins to become a jockey. I behaved extra-well that day, part of my congratulations for her, not wanting to make her mad or sad, and spoil her happiness. Oakwood Acres had good horses; not Triple Crown winners, but good enough that she would soon get her license.  
It wasn't long after that that Golden Phoenix was led away. We never saw him again either. Fire Phoenix was devastated, spending at least fourteen moons after Golden Phoenix's sale moping and sulking. They'd never been separated before. Sir P said that money was tight around the farm, because it hadn't had any big winners since years ago. Once we were on the track, we would have to work hard to earn back the money. The master was counting on us, because Sims had assured him that there were several fast runners in our batch, namely Steele, Moon, and me.  
Fast runners, big purses. So that was what Sims wanted, wasn't it? I was determined, as I had been determined since the beginning, to go against his plans and frustrate his wishes.  
I'd come to realize that he wouldn't let me get sold. How was he to get the revenge he had talked about if I was gone?  
That realization made me bolder, bold enough to try another plan. I would obey what they told me to do, but defy them at the same time. I went back to my old antics. It worked. Three days later, after a workout, I came out of the oval barely sweating, and saw Sims stomping away in frustration, yelling something about it being my worst time ever.  
I swallowed the huge grin that threatened to erupt on my face and followed Chaya to the makeshift shelter they used as the grooming and saddling area.  
  
However, as the racing season approached, I found more things to worry about than annoying Sims or getting sold.  
There was, firstly, Steele to deal with. His ego had inflated, partly because he had become Sims' favorite, behaving a total angel at the oval, and running the fastest times among us. His attitude had also worsened; so had his remarks.  
His verbal attack against me hadn't worked - knowing that he was provoking me, and that I'd be weaker than he was if I showed my reactions, I'd kept my temper and ignored him. He'd slated of a bit, until sometime ago, when he'd found a new tactic.  
He shifted his focus and began attacking my family-my mother, my father, my herd back home-relying heavily on the belief that pureblood horses were so much higher classed and higher born than half-breeds like me. "Half- breed" became my new nickname. Steele whispered it every time we passed each other.  
These new taunts would send my blood boiling-I was so mad I could have killed him on the spot-but even though I seethed and raged inside, I never let him see me.  
I didn't mind being called "half-blood"; call me any foul name you want and I wouldn't have cared. If he'd sneered and sniggered at me, my anger would be much less, because I was here in person and I could defend myself. But his taunts were against members of my herd-and they far away.  
My mother had said that Thoroughbreds were proud. She was right; they were proud of their breeding, of their looks, of their speed.  
But now, I could add to that-mustangs were also proud - and they could be prouder than the Thoroughbreds, not because they cared for their looks- but because they were proud of their honor and their freedom.  
To a mustang, death was preferable to capture; and if you were caught when you could have escaped, it was a shameful thing, the marks of which you would carry around for the rest of your life.  
His insults were against my family-and they were not here to defend theirselves.  
But I soon had other things to take my attention away from Steele and the things coming out if his mouth. The burned barn had finally been rebuilt, and we'd finally moved into it. The racing season was near, near enough for me to start worrying whether I would be running in a race against Steele or not.  
Training was intensified, until we were in top condition.  
Early one morning, before the sun had come up, several of us were loaded on a van-I mean, a trailer and taken to a racetrack. A real one this time, with strange horses and grooms running and scurrying about, and a wide, dirt track with a smaller turf track and real starting gates and real racehorses, not racehorse wanna-bes like we were. Or at least, like Moon and Steele and the others were. I couldn't exactly be counted as a racehorse wanna-be, since I had never wanted to be here in the first place.  
  
We were led down from the ramp while it was still dark and brought to our stalls. The other, older horses went back to dozing almost right away- this was routine to them and they were used to it-but I stayed awake, my head over my stall door, watching everything, much too excited about what was going to happen later that day.  
The track was full of excitement, with horses being led out to their workouts and horses being walked in from their workouts; grooms, trainers and jockeys bustled everywhere, and if you were used to quiet places, the noise here was deafening.  
We were taken out, groomed, tacked up, and led to the track when the sun was just coming up. I was looking around, my head craned sideways when Chaya swung up and trotted me to the track. We met Dick coming in on Moon, whose sweat-streaked creamy flacks were heaving slightly. He waved at us, and she bobbed her head as we went past.  
We started with the same routine as back home - warming up at a canter the wrong way around the track. I threw in a buck, testing her to see if she was ready to play or not. If she didn't react, that would sometimes mean it was alright for me to buck some more, or try to grab the bit and race off with her.  
This may seem weird, but I think she sometimes actually enjoyed my running away with her.  
This morning, like some other mornings, her fingers on the reins told me that she was serious today. There would be no time for playing, at least for now.  
I tossed my head and obeyed. Half-way around, she began to wake me up, urging me on with her voice, squeezing with her calves. I tucked my head and slowly, my strides lengthened.  
As usual, I waited impatiently and tugged at the bit to go faster. And as usual, until we passed whatever pole was used as a marker, she did not let me go.  
Finally, I felt the reins loosen, and sprang forward. The surrounding scenery became blurs. My hoofbeats pounded in my ears, and the air rushed past my face and blew back my mane into Chaya's face. I felt her weight leave the saddle and felt her knees pressed against my withers.  
She used her inside rein to keep me at the rail. We pounded up the track, my huge strides gobbling up the ground, and drew alongside another horse, an older gelding.  
We were beside them for an instant, then Chaya gave me more rein and we drew away from the gelding and his rider. My neck was barely lathered and I'd hardly started to blow when Chaya slowed me to a trot, and finally walked me out of the track.  
Sims met us, clipped another line to my bridle, and started talking with Chaya. He kept his hand on my nose, probably to keep me from biting him in case I ever decided to. Bad luck to me; I'd just decided that I was being too nice to him. The smell of his hand, warm and sickeningly sweaty filled my nose. I shuddered as I felt his fingers move. There was something repulsing about them, something revolting in the way he was scratching me.  
I'd been scratched lots of times before, but then never by him. And as I had said, it was ironic, the way he scratched and patted and boasted of my times at the oval while at the same time, his cold eyes told me that he would have loved the chance to strangle me. He was, as what we horses call, "plastic." Meaning, he was only a pretender.  
Men like him were cruel. And cowards. They would take offense and revenge at the smallest wrongdoing of their inferiors, but they would never do that to their superiors. They would simper and fawn over their betters, while treating those below them with incredible harshness.  
And I was, of course, way below him, both in the ranking in species and in the food chain. At least, that was what he thought.  
I was jerked back to reality when Chaya urged me into a walk. She brought me to a shady area not far from the racing stables and cooled me off. Then, I was doused with water, dried, groomed, and returned to my stall.  
I spent the next several hours gazing alternately at the wall and out the stall door. The stall walls were thick too thick for me to talk to the horse next door. But even if we did, I doubt that we could have heard each other over the noise.  
The grooms at Oakwood Acres did good, preparing us beforehand. The Oakwood Acres horses stood calmly in their stalls, not the least bit scared or disturbed. I pulled back from the stall door as a bright chestnut filly barged past, her eyes wild with fear at the noise, dragging her hapless trainer with her. I cautiously shoved my head out again a few moments later. The aisle was wide enough, but still, I didn't want any could-have- been-prevented accidents. Like bashing head to head with a terrified horse going full tilt. That would have been ouch.  
A tacked horse was led past me. I began to get excited. And tense. Being part mustang, I wasn't as temperamental and easily excited as the other Thoroughbreds, but still, I was part Thoroughbred. By the time they came for me, when the sun was high in the sky and just beginning its descent, I'd broken out into a cold sweat.  
I was led out of my stall and into the hosing down area. Dick scrubbed me down, then walked me until I was dry, since Chaya, who was riding me, had gone to get dressed and weighed. I was taken back to my stall and groomed until my golden coat gleamed. They left me and came back a while later to put on my bridle, and the socks used to protect my feet from clips and scratches. The sweat came again, and darkened patches of my neck, until I looked almost like a pinto-a dun pinto, with patches of deep gold and patches of bronze, where the sweat had been. But then, who had ever heard of a dun pinto?  
The nervousness mounted. I wasn't afraid; what was there to be afraid of? I was.eager. And tense. And a million things more. And from the looks of the other horses in my race, who were being led into the paddock just as I was, they were feeling butterflies in their stomachs too.  
A human female was walking around, lifting our lips, checking our registration tattoos, and clipping on numbers to our bridles. I would've craned my head upward to try to see mine, but I was too busy staring around wide-eyed.  
Dick walked me around the paddock, then headed for our saddling stall. Sims was waiting there, and he put on the blanket and slid the saddle on my back. His fingers were so deft that I hardly felt them doing the buckle on the girth.  
Chaya came out wearing the green and gold racing silks of Oakwood Acres. Goggles were perched on top of her helmet, which had a green cover. She waited quietly, watching while Sims checked my tack for the last time. I wriggled a bit. In the sun, the blanket felt hot uncomfortable and stuck to my back.  
The track official came. "Riders up!"  
Sims cupped his hands and Chaya swung up on my back. Dick clipped a line to my bridle and led me off. We lined up for the post-parade.  
The patches of sweat darkened on my neck. I pranced in place, mouthing my bit. The outrider on her pony came up beside me and clipped her line in place of Dick's which he had taken off. I swiveled my ears and turned my head immediately, studying the track pony. What were they doing here? Were they going to run the race with us? I snorted at the thought of me galloping past the other racehorses, dragging the rider and her pony after me. The pony snorted back. That was friendly. Somehow, I felt calmer.  
Chaya clucked me into a walk. The outrider led us until we could see the starting gates, then unclipped her line and waved as she trotted away. Oh. So they weren't going with us the whole way after all.  
The gates loomed ahead. We'd practiced in them dozens of times at home, so why did my nervousness mount again? I pinned back my ears as the track officials came and tried to lead me into the stall. Chaya waved them away and I walked in by myself.  
The moment I felt the gates close behind me with a bang, and felt the metal against my hocks, I immediately regretted what I did. I was trapped. I threw up my head and tried to back out. I couldn't. So I panicked. But there was no room to buck, no room to kick, no room to back away, no room to go forward. Then, somebody grabbed my bridle and I had to stay still.  
Chaya wove her fingers on my mane. I quieted down. I had drawn, or rather, Sims had drawn, the fifth position. There were seven horses on this field, six older, stronger, calmer, horses. They had all run in other races before, but had never won. And I may be faster than them, but they had more experience. While I sweated and pranced uneasily, they stood calmly, every action of theirs telling me that they were used to this, that they had done this before.  
The bell rang, and the starting gates opened. Six horses surged out on the track. Six older horses sped away. One horse, the novice, was left at the gate. Me.  
I hadn't been paying attention, and I was left behind. It only took a moment for me to realize that the race had already began, but that moment had already cost us several lengths to make up.  
All my racing career, I never made that mistake again.  
If Chaya wouldn't take charge, I would take over for her. I grabbed the bit in my teeth and raced out of my gate, running frantically after the other horses. Up on my back, she was jolted back to her senses. She tried to pull in more rein, to slow me down a bit, but as I had said, the bit was in my teeth, and I wasn't about to let her get it.  
A few more strides and we caught up with the last horse. I went faster and we were soon running on the outside of the pack, with the leaders several lengths in front.  
The pounding noise filled my ears. My nose was just inches above the churning hindquarters of the horse in front. I pulled back a bit, not wanting to get a mouthful of dust.  
This was just like the exercise rides at home, only here, there would be a winner. And I was determined that I would be that horse.  
Chaya crouched on my back, her weight on her heels, and gave me a bit more rein when I asked. Being on the outside, I ran the widest distance, and had the most lengths to make up. She slowed me a little when we were at the head of the pack, and guided me over to a narrow slot just behind the leaders. I'd finally let her take the reins, and she was telling me right now that this speed was just right.  
How many turns we rounded past, I didn't bother to count. All I knew was that we were suddenly on the homestretch. I flicked an ear and tugged some more on the reins. She told me to wait. But this was going to cost us the race. So, I grabbed the bit again, and put on more speed. We swept past the leaders as if they were standing still. I was elated. I was going to be first!  
Until I saw the horse in front. There had been another horse, but we just hadn't seen him before. And with just a few more lengths to go before the wire, we wouldn't have enough time to cover the distance.  
I tried anyway, sure that it would do no good. I went full tilt and we flew down the track, my giant strides eating up the distance between us and that one horse. Everything became blurs of color, and I couldn't really see clearly where we were. I just ran, and kept on running, hoping not to crash into him.  
Above the roar of the wind, I could hear Chaya saying whoa and felt her pulling on the reins. I slowed. My vision went back to normal. We were past the finish line. I looked back and could see the pack still running. Then, I looked ahead and couldn't find the first horse. Where was he/she? Surely they would have been ahead of us.  
But we were the only ones past the finish line. Then that would mean.?  
Just then, the second placer swept past us and was pulled up. It was the horse who had been ahead of us. The rest of the pack caught up and were slowed down.  
The race. We'd won it!  
I felt Chaya engulfing my neck with those strange human arms of hers, felt a line being clipped on my bridle, heard Dick's and Sim's voices yelling something. The now-familiar smell of the track pony who had first led us in the post parade filled my nostrils.  
I was led into a circle, with Chaya, Sims, and my owner. Humans surrounded us, yelling. There was clicking everywhere, and blinding flashes of light. Something big and gleaming was handed to Sims, who handed it to Chaya, who lifted it up high.  
A surge of pride flared within me. I'd won the race, beaten the other horses!  
I would never forget that day for the rest of my life. 


	9. The Reappearance

Disclaimer: I don't own the Black anymore than I own the moon. And I don't own the moon. 

**Chapter 8**

Hours later, I was led down the ramp and back into the paddock. The moment Chaya left, the other two-year-olds crowded over. I escaped as soon as I'd answered their questions as vaguely as I can.

   We'd won the race, but I was strangely tired. Not tired as in tired, but… I don't know. _Tired._ I fell almost asleep immediately. 

   But it didn't matter. After a few days, I was back to normal.

   Chaya had gotten the biggest telling-off in her life by Sims. She told me later that she hadn't been paying attention when she should, and that she really shouldn't allow me to grab the bit and run off in a race, as it would burn me out too soon.

   Why was Chaya being blamed for something that wasn't entirely her fault anyway? It had been me who had run off, not her.

   She also said that they were giving me a break, so that I wouldn't get worn out too easily. So, I was only cantered and galloped lightly in the oval, and the afternoon trail-rides became something to look forward to. Now that we didn't have to worry about speed or stamina or anything, Chaya rode me on hacks and together, sometimes with Moon and Dick, or sometimes alone, we would go off in the woods, trotting around and around the trails, or else Chaya would ride me over to the back pasture where we would gallop from one end to another, delighting in the feel of the wind in our faces.  

   After seven moons, I was back in heavy training, and my next race was soon fixed. This time, with Chaya still jockeying me, I was alert, and when the gates opened, I was off like a shot. We didn't have any problems, because I just raced away and won it by eleven lengths. At least, that was what Chaya had said. And this time, with her in charge, I was kept in check, allowed just enough speed to win the race. 

   And so my life went on. I raced, and I won. And I noticed that, as time passed, the horses in the races that I was entered into were getting faster and harder to beat. 

   I also noticed that me winning made Sims happy. Very happy. And I didn't want to make him happy. So, I considered trying something new. Something old, actually, something that I had been doing at exercise rides back home. But after giving it a night's thought, I decided against it. My plan had been to intentionally lose races, but Steele would give me grief about it, and Steele was worse than Sims.

   I couldn't do anything; I could seethe and rage watching Sims at the winner's circle, but I could do little else. 

   My strained relationship continued with Steele. But at least, we were still on speaking terms, and not mortal enemies.

   It all changed when I was put in a race with him. I had two choices. I knew that he had never lost a race before. I also knew that if I won, he would be mad at me for the rest of my life. But I knew that if I lost, and he won, for he would surely win if I didn't, his ego would balloon out of proportion. Not that it already wasn't. And he would humiliate me for the rest of my stay in captivity. 

   We ran. I won the race. And broke the old track record, and set a new one. I'm not bragging; it's true.

   I didn't know what I expected. Or I supposed I did. Chaya and Sims would be happy. Me, I don't know. I'd both gained an advantage and a disadvantage. Sims would be happy. That was the disadvantage. The advantage was that I'd finally beaten Steele, something that I'd wanted to do for months, and something which would prove to him that he, after all, contrary to what he believed, wasn't the fastest two-year-old around. And as I have said, hundreds of times, millions of times so that you must be tired of hearing it, a happy Sims is something I didn't want, but it was either that or put up with Steele. And as I have said before, Steele was worse than Sims.

   I hadn't guessed Steele's reaction.

   The moment we were back home, in the paddock, he whirled on me.

   "Why did you do that? Why didn't you just drop back and give me the race? You would have been second, and second's not bad! " he yelled. This was the first time he had lost. And he had lost only by a nose.

   "Why not? If you had been me, you would have done it." I tried to keep calm.

   The other two-year-olds were now gathered in a circle around us.

   "You _knew_ I wanted to win, so you did it on purpose! " He was seething. But he was partly correct. 

    What was I suppose to say? _Yeah, man, that's right _? He wasn't a man, but his guess was right.

    My mind heated up. He was unreasonable. If he could win, why couldn't I? "Why can't I? Any horse has the right to. Did you scare the wits out of them so that they wouldn't dare to finish in front of you? Or do you mean to say that every single horse that runs in a race with you has to slow to a crawl and bow and give way to your Royal Highness' self so that you can strut up to the finish line?" I shot back. The words spewed out of my mouth. Months of hatred and bullying and frustration were boiled down to those simple sentences. My voice came out cold and hard, not the way I'd expected it. There was a collective gasp behind me. I turned. The circle parted to let me through. I started walking away.

   But I knew that I'd gone too far. Thoroughbreds are proud. _Very proud_.

   The next moment, I felt his teeth grip my mane. 

   "Say that again, and I'll tear you apart." he breathed. I laughed. Aloud. Obviously, he didn't think I knew how to fight. Unfortunately for him.

   And unfortunately for me. He thought that I was laughing at him. But I wasn't. Really. 

   I pulled away. He let me go. 

   "You can tell her that, half-breed." His voice came, rough and hoarse from behind me. "Go on. You'd like that wouldn't you? Go tell your poor, filthy, _dirty,_ mother that you, her wild little half-breed son, beat a pure-blooded Thoroughbred in a race, and brought shame on the whole Thoroughbred breed. Go tell her that, and then ask her what did she see in that no-good father of yours that she had to leave behind a promising life and run off with …with the likes of _him_."

   That did it. 

   The red spots began dancing in front of my eyes again. 

   A moment later, he was lying on the ground on his back, with a surprised expression, and I was standing over him, breathing down on his face, with no idea how I got there. I'd never been this mad since Jim, my first trainer.

   "You won't live to regret the day you insult my mother again." My teeth were clenched. His eyes widened. 

   It was then that I realized: Steele may have acted strong and tough and macho. He may have tormented me. He may have challenged me to fight, and acted confident that he would come out the winner. But inside, deep inside, he was afraid.

  That realization led to another one: Steele was afraid of me! He was scared of me, and that was why he had always treated me different from the others. He sneered and bullied because he was afraid that one day, I would rise up higher than him. And if he could prevent that, he would do anything he could to do it.

   I stepped away, stunned.

   Big mistake. 

   The moment my back was turned, he leapt forward and fastened his teeth on my withers. I whirled, my hindquarters churning dust, and tried to reach the crest of his neck. I couldn't lose my footing; the moment I went down, I would be vulnerable to his hooves and teeth, and that would usually mean that I would lose.

   But his head was behind mine; I couldn't reach him with my teeth. So, I reared. He had to rise with me, or else lose his hold. Twisting around, I bucked my highest, all my feet up in the air. He stayed on. My skin felt as if it were being torn apart. I came back down and went into a wild gallop. He ran with me, going awkwardly with his head sideways. I went faster, until the air whizzed by again and the fence blurred into a thin ribbon. 

   We were fast approaching the end of the paddock. If I didn't stop soon, we would crash straight into the fence.

   Don't worry, I don't have any intention of getting a fractured skull.

  This had been one of my tricks back in the wild. 

   Nearer…near…

   At the last second, I veered away in a sharp turn. Steele's body swung a few inches into the air with the force, his feet pawing madly at nothing. He had to let go, or he would tear out his teeth and his gums.

   He did let go. I kept on running, but slowed down. The pain in my withers was intense. I felt something tickly, craned back my head, and could see blood trickling down my sides.

   Now he was after me, and I had to use all of my speed and agility to get away. 

I flashed by a silver shape. Moon. Two bay blurs. Sandstorm and Marionette. A chestnut statue. Phoenix. They were standing, scattered around the paddock, watching us. And we were fighting, Steele and me, to see who would get who. Just like in the wild, when a stallion fights another for a group of mares. Only we were two-year-old colts, in a paddock, fighting for superiority over a group of mesmerized Thoroughbreds.

   Oh well, one has to improvise sometimes.

   They were watching with their mouths hanging open. What, hadn't they ever seen a fight before?

   Then I realized. Oh. They _hadn't_, because there had been no need for fights; nobody had ever stood up to Steele before. And there hadn't been fights, because the humans would have stopped one before it started anyway. Hmmm. Where were the humans?

   He was neighing something, something about my being a coward and running away from him. His words didn't matter. I shut out his voice and focused on his eyes. 

   The opponent's eyes told one everything they needed to know. I'd been told that, and had learned it from experience myself. 

   I slowed. I'd reached the other end of the paddock, and I saw Steele standing at the opposite side. So. He wanted it this way. I knew what he was going to do, what we were both planning on doing.

   I pawed the ground and reared, sending out a high whinny. He kicked dust at his end, and snorted.

   At this rate, the grooms would soon be running. They would surely have heard the noise we were making; all the whinnyings and poundings and all the earsplitting screams. I didn't really care whether I earned money or not, but the farm's fate mostly rested on these two-year-olds; the master wouldn't want injured Thoroughbreds who couldn't run at races, or sick horses who had to spend months healing and eat up loads of money at the same time.

   I pinned back my ears and raised my tail. He did the same. 

   This was getting serious. The fights at home had always been for fun; even though Raha had been sort of Steele's counterpart back home, when we fought, we'd never really intended to hurt each other. Of course you get the scrapes and cuts and bruises along the way, but we never drew blood. When we bit, we were extra careful to do it lightly, and when we kicked and bucked, we made sure our hooves didn't hit each other's bodies.

   Of course, there were unpreventable accidents; sometimes, our teeth sank in too deeply and caused scars, or our hooves nicked skin, but the fight always stopped then and there, and we always apologized and made up immediately afterward. And we never intended to kill.  

   Steele showed no intention of stopping. And he looked murderous.

   I knew I must be frustrating to him: he was nervous and tensed, and showed signs of worrying, while I stayed calm. But I was all those things inside too; I just learned not to show them.

   I pawed the ground again, lowered my head, and went into a blinding, flat-out gallop. He did the same. I knew that I must be a golden streak, because he was also a black streak heading towards me. 

   Then, at the last second before we collided, I swerved and slid to a standstill. Surprised, his speed too fast and his momentum too far forward, he almost fell to his knees when he made a sudden stop. His hooves scrabbled for traction, and for a moment, I though he was going to fall.

   He didn't. Unfortunately. But in the time it took him to regain his balance, I'd already regained mine and was starting toward him.

   He had just pulled himself up when I rammed him with my shoulder. I'd gone into a gallop, and the force threw us both, him backward, me forward. 

   Big mistake for me. In the second when my neck was exposed, before we slid to a complete stop, he went for my neck. Now we were locked against each other, hooves madly pawing the ground, teeth reaching for each other's throats, manes and tails flying, forefeet lashing furiously. 

   We were both unrecognizable. Two 'tame', previously docile colts were now raging white-eyed monsters; our coats were dusty and our tails tangled. I had the bite on my withers, and a cut across my face, which were both bleeding. He had a large gash on his chest, and when he moved, I noticed he was limping. Plus, there were the hoof-shaped bruises and other, smaller cuts. 

   Somehow, I managed to scramble up, and keep him on his back in the dirt. I reared above him and whinnied in triumph, my forefeet pawing the air, prepared to bring them down on his black coat.

    He had another move. He reached out with his forefeet and with a circular pawing motion, hooked my hind feet. I saw him and tried to move. Too late! My feet were pulled out from under me. I went crashing down. The impact was stunning. I shook my head to clear it. 

   Steele was now the one standing over me, breathing down my neck, his black face twisted in a mask of malicious glee, bared white teeth inches from my throat.

   I wouldn't let him win. 

   I twisted and brought all four feet up above me, like a cat, and began to paw, running on air. With my hooves above me, Steele had to back away or risked getting kicked.  

   That bought me enough time to roll and get to my feet. 

   Now, we were equal again. I lowed my head like a bull, pawed the earth, and threw myself against him. My teeth dug into his flesh; a fountain of blood spurted out, spraying us both and some of the others who were watching as well. Using the curve of my shoulder, I hooked my neck with his and used my weight to force him to the ground. The red spots in my eyes had now become a red mist. The blood pounded in my veins, coursed through my body. Whatever casualties I had gotten, I felt nothing. No pain, not even a slight sting or anything.

   I lowered my head and snorted into Steele's face, my ears pinned back, and my teeth bared. The stance of the victor.

   I didn't want to kill him, although that was what wild stallions usually do when they defeat another stallion. I just didn't want him to make trouble ever again.

   Steele lowered his eyes in an act of submission. His ears cupped forward, and his tail thumped the ground.

   I let him up. 

   The moment he was on his feet, he dove for my throat. Ah, so he was faking. But he couldn't move fast; I'd given him a deep bite on his back leg. I twisted left and darted in.  

   I was really mad now. My mind filled with images of tearing out the great vein in his throat where his life-blood ran, of watching him sink to his knees and fall to the ground, blood spurting, pouring out in a stream out of his neck, of rearing and pounding his body with my hooves, of neighing the victory cry, of rounding up his band of mares. It was as if I wasn't myself anymore, as if another horse were inside me; it was the wild stallion who saw through my eyes, smelled blood through my nose, fueled my anger.

   I sprang for his throat. Just before my teeth closed on his skin, something was thrown around my neck. Something was pulling me backwards, something stronger than I was. 

   I arched my neck and fought back, kicking, thrashing, my hooves digging into the ground, leaving deep gouges on the earth. I couldn't let him get away now that I was so close to victory. My teeth clamped unto something soft. It was a moment before I realized that I was biting cloth. Something was wound around my jaw, going all the way up over my nose and down again, forming a makeshift muzzle. 

   I raised my head and threw my weight forward, my hooves pawing the earth, eager to get back to the fight. I could see Steele being dragged away too, muzzled and still kicking. That something that was dragging me away was talking now, in a soft voice. The red dots in my eyes slowly, slowly, gradually lessened until I could see again. 

   That someone was now running her hand down my neck. I calmed down and stopped trembling. It was as if everything went back to normal. But inside me, though I knew it was not me, another horse lurked; I was a 'tame' colt, yet at the same time, there was another horse hiding in me, a wild stallion who was _not_ me, who was waiting for a chance to surface again. 

   But that chance was not now. I quieted down. 

   It was then that the pain hit me full force. I hadn't noticed the pain before. The cut on my nose sizzled and stung. There were slashes in my coat; some streamed blood, while others were already scabbing. I took a step and my left forefoot nearly crumpled beneath me. I looked down and saw a deep gouge on it. 

   Steele's wounds were just as bad, I realized. His limping was much worse than mine; the gash on his chest hadn't stopped bleeding, and he looked about ready to collapse. I knew that I must have looked the same. Some other humans had rounded up the frightened horses and were calming them down. 

   Sandstorm was wounded! There was blood on his side. How had he gotten that? He'd never been in the fight in the first place. 

   They weren't wounds! A human was wiping the blood away. Whose blood? Then I remembered. I looked back and saw my own sweat-and-blood-streaked coat. Chaya was now pulling a soft cloth over my back, wiping away the blood that wasn't mine. 

   My coat wiped clean, I'd gotten lesser cuts than I thought. Most were just bruises, and none were really serious. Maybe except for the one on my forefoot. 

   The shame came. We weren't supposed to fight! What would Sims say? What would that mean to the farm? If two of the farm's fastest racehorses were grounded for months, would that mean more expenses? Yes that would, I decided. Medicine would be needed, and meanwhile, we wouldn't be earning any money. Then a horrible thought struck me. _What if some of the other horses were sold because of us?_  I was pulled away from my thoughts by Chaya, who was leading me out of the paddock and into the barn, where I was put back in my stall. I saw Steele being led past my stall door to his stall. Chaya and Dick came in again, bring something with them. What was that they were holding? I pushed my head forward. Dick opened a container and let me sniff it. I shoved my nose into ointment and pain seared across my skin. It felt like I was on fire for a moment. I snorted in pain and surprise and pulled back.

   The human with the white coat arrived. She looked me over, and set to work, with Dick and Chaya by her side, and several other people , including Sims, watching over the stall door. They worked for hours, while I stood on three legs, holding up my fourth to be put in a cast, and yelped with pain whenever anything was applied to my skin.

    They must have painted me all over with the stuff before they left me alone for the night. Actually, I'm exaggerating. And well, not really alone. Chaya pulled up a cot and slept outside my stall door. She woke every few hours to change the dressings. I dozed, the cuts too painful and the cast making it too uncomfortable to go to sleep, yet at the same time, too tired to stay awake.

   That was the way I spent the nights for the next few weeks. My wounds healed slowly. Very slowly. VERY VERY SLOWLY. So slowly that by the time the first bandages and the cast were taken off, I had enough time to decide that, if this was what I would get for fighting, I never wanted to fight here again. Fighting out in the wild was fine. Fighting here wasn't. You could die of boredom, standing all day in the stall, and waiting, waiting, waiting forever for something interesting to happen.

   As the weeks passed, our bodies healed; bruises slowly faded, cuts sealed themselves and vanished, and my injured foot got better. Soon, all that remained was the stiffness, and it too, was gone before long.

   When we finally got well enough to move around, we started being led around and around the yard outside the stable. The walking gave us back our strength and former stamina. Before long, we were being ponied in one of the larger paddocks, by Sir Peppero of course. The ponying gave way to slow walks and short trots around and around the lanes, which gave way to slow canters at the trails. 

   We were never worked together. The humans tried, once. It resulted in me giving Steele a bite–a huge one–and him yanking out a chunk of my mane.    

   The humans never did it again.

   This all took a while, and by the time I was back on the oval, the racing season was almost at its end. So was autumn.

   The trees had lost all their leaves and cold winds were blowing once again before I was back in the paddock.

   But not with the others this time. Sims' orders, as usual. Since I was now labeled 'dangerous' and 'prone to kick, bite, or do anything else that might harm the other horses', and 'bully', I was put in with Sir Peppero, and Steele, Sims' favorite, who was 'the victim', was trotting around and chatting happily with a reluctant Sandstorm.

   He came over one afternoon, while we were watching the breaking of one of the farm's yearlings. Being in separate, but adjacent paddocks, we now had to resort to over-the-fence communication. Sandstorm whispered in my ear, ad I whispered back, careful not to let Steele, who was eyeing us as if we were planning a conspiracy, hear us. 

   Steele now thought Sandstorm his best friend, Moon his, and the whole paddock his realm. He'd also grown bolder since the fight. Very bold. And daring enough to risk my anger. I watched him gloating one evening, showing off his scars to his audience, and making sure I heard every word of his "word-by-word account" of what had started the fight.

   I acted disinterested. No matter; if I couldn't hear what he said, Sandstorm could tell me everything later. If I wanted to hear it.

   He raised his voice. I turned, flicked an ear, and reached down for a mouthful of grass. 

   His voice turned louder still. 

   I casually ambled a few steps away from the fence in case he decided to get my attention by coming over and giving me a kick. 

   I wasn't going to lose my temper this time. I would play it out, get him irritated, keep him irritated, torment him, taunt him, and see what happened. If I was right, I would be able to drive Steele crazy.

   The next time I hear his voice, he was right next to me, with only the fence between us. And he was yelling.

   "SO, HALF-BREED. HAPPY? THOUGHT YOU BEAT ME, DIDN'T YOU? WE'LL SEE ABOUT THAT…"

   I faked deaf. 

   "OH NOW HE'S DEAF. I MEAN, SHE'S DEAF. HALF-BREED MAY LOOK LIKE AN IDDLE BIDDLE BABY COLT, BUT YOU HAVE THE HEART OF A MARE, DON'T YOU, HALF-BREED?"

   He was taunting me. I wouldn't fall for the bait.

   "NO, WAIT. NOT SHE. HALF-BREED DOESN'T EVEN DESERVE TO BE CALLED A SHE. HALF-BREED DESERVES TO BE CALLED AN '_IT'_."

   My ears were ringing. If he continued, I would really become deaf. I backed away a few more paces, careful to make it look like I was looking for new grass.

   " '_IT'_ REFERS TO A THING. THINGS CAN'T HEAR,RIGHT HALF-BREED?"

   Was he trying to be funny? Yeah, he was. But I couldn't hear any laughter. All the others must have been gathered around us by now. Why couldn't any of them have given _him_ a kick?

   " ' _IT'_ ALSO HAS ANOTHER NAME, ASIDE FROM 'HALF-BREED', AND '_IT'_. '_IT'_ IS ALSO CALLED FREE WIND."

   Sir Peppero was the best kicker. Unfortunately, he was away at a trail-ride, ponying one of the particularly frisky three-year-olds. Too bad for me. Steele was lucky this time.

   " DO YOU KNOW WHAT 'FREE' MEANS? 'FREE' MEANS 'CHEAP'. 'FREE' MEANS 'NO COST'. 'FREE' MEANS WORTHLESS."

    Ha ha ha. 

   " '_IT'_ IS IGNORING ME, ISN'T _IT_?" Steele roared, tossing his gleaming black head.

   _Yeah, dude. I'm ignoring you. And I'm getting away with it. _

   He must have gotten tired of playing with me. I flicked my tail, hoping to hit him on the face.

   I did. 

   That made him more angry. Furious. Raging mad.

   Uh oh.

   I heard hooves. What was he going to do this time? Take his rage out on Sandstorm and Moon and Marionette and Fire Phoenix?

   Obviously not. He wouldn't want to lose favor with them.

   The hooves grew louder. Then they stopped. 

   What was he doing? I turned my head.

   Something crashed against me, knocked the breath out of me, pushed me aside.

   Steele had jumped the fence. And he'd landed _on_ me. Intentionally, no doubt.

   I was now carrying him too. He was heavy. Very heavy. The force of his landing made my knees buckle. I staggered and fell. We both tumbled to the grass.

   He sprang up. I scrambled up too. Was he crazy? We were now healed, but we were in no shape to start fighting again, him and me both.

   I rocked backward and felt the wooden boards press against my hindquarters.   

   I was trapped! 

   My back was now against the V-shaped corner of the paddock, and there was only one way out. And Steele was barring it.

   There was no room to escape, no room to rear or raise my feet to fight. 

Steele was feet away. He lunged.

   He wouldn't leave me alive this time. 

   I would not, would not die here. Ironic, isn't it? I'd fought so hard for my freedom, only to die in captivity not through man but through a _horse_.__

 My determination surged. That wouldn't happen. I bared my teeth and lunged too.

   That wasn't needed.

   We heard something, a huge roaring sound. A gigantic black horse burst out of nowhere and charged Steele. He stopped a few yards before us both and stamped the ground with one hoof.

   Now I had someone on the same team with me. _Assuming_ the stallion was sided with me.

   The black stallion pranced a few feet away and tossed his head. Steele's head swung my way, then the stallion's way. He unconsciously took a step forward.

   Good. I now had more space.

   Steele was sizing both of us up. He must have seen the size of the other horse and decided to go for him first. 

   The black stallion pranced away some more. Steele followed, now with his back half-turned toward me.

   Great. The stallion was luring Steele away.

   Then, Steele lunged. The stallion moved even further away, until they were facing each other in the middle of the paddock. I slid out of my corner and contemplated my next move.

   Steele had obviously forgotten about me. Was it alright to sidle up next to him and give him a kick? Would it be fair? There were two of us, and only one of him. Maybe, maybe not.

   And while I thought, the two of them decided that they were tired of trying to stare each other down, and moved on to the preliminary fighting: stamping, pawing, tossing their heads, lashing furiously with their tails.

   I studied the black stallion. He was massive; in spite of our already-tall heights, he still towered over both of us. Black shining head…definitely not a Thoroughbred head. His face was tapered slightly. Where had I seen such a face? Very familiar…

  The stallion was now looking bored. He trotted to the end of the paddock, turned to face Steele, and let out a shrill, ringing neigh. Steele snorted uncertainly. The black pawed the ground and charged flat out. His speed was amazing. One minute he was standing stock-still, regal head held high, and the next, he was a black blur streaking toward Steele. I jumped back, even though I was a safe distance away and wasn't the one being charged at.

   They were going to crash. I closed my eyes.

   There was the sound of enormous bodies hitting each other, and a sharp squeal of pain.

    I opened my eyes.

   Steele soared up, higher than my head, sailed over the fence, hooves flailing helplessly, and landed with an earth-shaking thud in his own paddock.

   I ran closer for a better look. The black stallion tossed his head and stamped the ground with his hoof, as if satisfied. 

   Steele was unhurt, though shaken. His coat was covered with dark patches of sweat. He scrambled up, threw a terrified look back over his shoulder at us, then took off for the knot of horses standing at the far side of the paddock.

   He would be alright.

   I turned to say thank you.

   And faced an empty paddock.

   The black stallion was gone.


	10. The Accident

Disclaimer : "The Black Stallion _isn't_ mine." How many times have I been saying that and people _still_ don't get it? 

   *joke, people, joke only*   J  

   Anyways, nice reading ang hope you enjoy and don't fall asleep! 

A/N:   I 'm really sorry I can't update as often as before. We have limited Internet use here, and I'm pretty busy with schoolwork right now. I'll try to update more during vacations.   

Chapter 9 

   "Ok…so let's see. Uh…there's your mother…no no cross her out…she's black, but she's obviously not a stallion, and she couldn't possibly be _that_ big… …uh…there's Steele…but he was the one being picked on – "

   "It was _me_ that was being picked on," I interrupted Sandstorm, "until _he_ came to my rescue, that is."

   As usual, we were having our over-the-fence communication, but this time, instead of sharing the latest information about Steele and his plans, we were now coming up with a list of all the black horses we ever knew. Or in this case, we _never_ knew.

   We were speculating about who _he_ was.

   The black stallion.

   The minute Steele had returned, or rather, _been_ returned back to his paddock, Sandstorm had rushed over at once and we'd begun our earnest discussion, and the only thing that prevented Steele from barging in too was the fact that he was now strutting around in front of Marionette, Moon, and Fire Phoenix and belting out his side of the story. I glanced over Sandstorm's shoulder and could see him throwing glowering looks our way. Marionette twitched her ears and looked like she didn't believe him, Moon looked like she wanted to be anywhere else except there, and Fire Phoenix's gaze was wandering; he wasn't really listening. Steele went on; even if we couldn't hear what he was going on about, though it was sure to be something about earlier said incident involving the manner in which he had been returned to his paddock.

   "So uh…let's go over the list again," Sandstorm drew my attention back to the topic. "There's your mother, Steele, and uh… there's Shadow…and Dark Cocoa…oh, and don't forget Hot Chocolate…Ok. Your mother's out, Steele's out, Shadow…you don't even know him, so he just wouldn't come barging in here to save you…and he's _old_…" Shadow was one of the stallions kept in the breeding barns. And as Sandstorm had said, he was old. Not as old as Sir Peppero, but maybe as old as my mother. And counting, my mother was turning twelve springs this coming spring.

   Even if he had been fit, Shadow wouldn't have had the speed and the strength needed to make Steele fly over the fence the way he had.

   "…But Dark Cocoa is too young…oh come on, he's just a yearling…" Dark Cocoa wasn't even black; but his coat was a rich, dark seal brown, so rich and so dark that you just might mistake it for black. "You know, it just could be –  " I began. Sandstorm cut me off. " Yeah, I know, it just might be him…but you're forgetting something…" I hadn't actually forgotten anything. It just could be Dark Cocoa, but the stallion had been a _true_ black; in fact, his coat was _soo_ black, it seemed to shine a cobalt blue. Cocoa was also massive; both his parents had been big. But he still had that slight…look… that all yearlings seemed to have. And besides, the stallion had been _all_ black. I was sure of it. 

   Dark Cocoa had a white stocking running up his right foreleg. I would have seen it immediately.

   And he had a wide white blaze down his face.

   The stallion was _all_ black.  

   And besides, Dark Cocoa was a _yearling_….. 

   "Forget Cocoa," Sandstorm muttered more to himself than to me. "What about Hot Chocolate?"

   "Are you crazy?" I asked. "If we're crossing off my mother, then cross off Hot Chocolate too." 

   Hot Chocolate was _big_. Hot Chocolate was _black_. But Hot Chocolate was a _MARE_. In fact, she was Dark Cocoa's mother.

   "Are there any riding horses who fit that description?" I swished my tail slowly.

   "Nah…no wait…oh yeah, I just forgot," Sandstorm turned to me. "There was this riding horse. His name –" my ears pricked up at the word _his_ –" is Remembrance –" I felt a bubble of hope well up inside me –" and he's big and he's black, without any markings, but you don't know him; no, you _won't_ know him –" I was actually leaning forward to hear better – " because he died a few weeks before you first came here."

   The bubble of hope burst.

   We grazed beside each other that evening, separated by the fence, tearing up mouthfuls of grass, and pausing in between to make suggestions that were getting more and more ridiculous by the minute.

   By the time the stars came out and most of the other horses were already dozing, we were still arguing about one of his latest crazy ideas–that it had been Northlight who had appeared earlier.   

   I was shaking my head so hard my ears were almost flopping from side to side. "It couldn't possibly be Northlight… Northlight is _copper_…"

   Sandstorm threw up his head with frustration. "All I'm saying is, Northlight could have rolled in soot or dust and come here…and you know, maybe to disguise himself…or he could just be very very _very_ dirty…and stop shaking your head like that before your ears go flying off…"

   "But if it was Northlight, assuming it was Northlight, why would he wait so long to come here? Why now and not earlier – say at our first fight? And anyway, Northlight would never dare leave the herd…you know what happens…" I had told him about the time Northlight had to fight two stallions one after the other, without my mother looking after the herd.

   He sighed.

   I sighed.

   He sighed again.

   Sir P dozed nearby. Or at least, he had been dozing. Now, however, he was inching toward us, his eyes still half-closed, no doubt to scold us for disturbing his beauty sleep. I nudged Sandstorm, jerked my head toward the white, spotted shape creeping up on us, and nodded. Sandstorm nodded back and slipped away, silently making for the knot of horses back in his paddock.

   I slipped away too, before Sir P could catch me.

   We would continue the discussion tomorrow.

   We never did get to finish the list. The next morning, we both woke to the sound of Chaya and Dick's whistles. There was no time to talk during the walk to the barn and during the grooming. 

   We needn't fear the humans hearing, because they wouldn't have understood us. But there were other horses there. Lots of other horses. And we couldn't take the risk of being overheard.

   We were galloped together that morning. I don't know why it was allowed, but Sims hadn't objected when Chaya boldly led me out beside Sandstorm and Terri, Sandstorm's rider.

   We started the warm-up, trotting briskly. I glanced at Sandstorm. There would be no running-to-be-first today. I wouldn't pull ahead, or try to go faster. We would run side by side, like brothers.

   Sandstorm rolled back his eye and snorted. "It's _him,_" he muttered to me. _Steele_.

   He was jogging behind Sandstorm, and came to run beside him in a few strides. I could see Sandstorm's eyes glinting as he tried to glare at Steele without turning his head. Steele only grinned coldly and leaned over to whisper in my ear, "So you've got your little friend here to protect you, now that that black stallion is gone." 

   It was a loud whisper. Sandstorm heard it too. I flicked back my ears a little and ignored the threat. Sandstorm didn't.

   Sandstorm bristled.

   The three of us swept around the track, trotting in a line. I was at the rail, Sandstorm in between Steele and me. I tried not to think of the fight.

   We reached the half-mile pole. Sim's arm fell. We surged forward as one. 

   Chaya kept me back, reminding me again and again with the reins and her seat to that I shouldn't barge out of line. 

   I wouldn't have had. I was more worried about Steele and Sandstorm.

   In the past few weeks, Sandstorm had turned more and more against Steele. At first, he had tolerated Steele's advances of friendship with half-hearted smiles, nods, and weak nickers. Now, he had taken to staring stonily and sometimes, glares.

   Steele knew this.

   And I didn't have any doubts that he would do something about it.

   We were going around the bend. Steele had drawn away a bit. I stayed where I was, not wanting to go near him. Steele's rider checked him, and he dropped back, his black hindquarters churning dust in my face. I dropped back a bit too.

   Sandstorm surged ahead to run beside him.

   Now there were the two of them, running together, before me.  Almost all I could see were two black tails, a black body, and a bay one.

   It became a battle of speed. First, one of them would draw away. The other would catch up. 

   They accelerated. So did I.

   This was wrong, all wrong. We were going way too fast for a track workout. The bend was ahead. Was I imagining it, or was Steele leaning way to the left, toward the rail? And was Sandstorm actually turning his head left?

   We were going around the bend when it happened. I'm not sure how things went; all I knew was that one minute, we were still running, and the next, there was a squeal of pain. A few more seconds, and we heard a crunching sound, a shriek of pain, followed by a ground shaking thud.

   I couldn't pull up that fast. Through a cloud of dust, I saw a mound of bodies ahead. I tried to swerve to the right, onto the middle of the track. But I could hear another horse pounding up the dirt behind me. We would crash. I swerved back in and tried to jump.

   Chaya wasn't cooperating. Just before liftoff, her hands pulled in a lot of rein. Maybe she wanted to bring me to a stop. My head was pulled back along with the reins. I needed to stretch out my neck for the jump. I couldn't.

   I jumped anyway. But Chaya was off balance. Her weight was thrown to the right. I twisted in midair, trying to stay upright. 

   My hoof caught on something. The next thing I knew, the ground was coming up to meet me. I felt Chaya fly off my back.

   I fell too. The fourth horse, behind me, saw just in time to sweep past safely, running on the very outside of the track.  

   I scrambled up as soon as I could. Steele was standing up too, his rider clinging shakily to his mane. 

   Chaya had gotten up and was running towards us.

   Sandstorm was still on the ground, groaning in pain. His hind leg was twisted out in an odd angle. I blew air in his face, worried. His rider, who had jumped clear just in time, was crouching next to him, stroking his head. 

   Steele was wearing this triumphant look.

   I could have killed him right there and then.

   The next few seconds were filled with shouts and calls. Someone came up, got hold of my reins, and tried to tug me aside. I fought back, planting my feet. A flashing van came whirring up, and more white-coated humans jumped down from it. They surrounded us. What was happening to Sandstorm? He let out another scream and flailed his front legs, his tail thumping the ground raising another cloud of dust. We could see the whites of his eyes. 

   I strained closer, dragging whoever was holding on to the reins with me. The bit was digging into the corners of my mouth, but right then, I didn't care.

   Pretty soon, we were standing almost beside Sandstorm. He looked up, his eyes wide and rolling in fear. Steele had been ridden a few lengths away. The humans were now crouched around his head. They were doing something. One of them had a …something-that-pricks. He stuck it into Sandstorm's thigh. Sandstorm's bay coat was glistening with sweat. He was heaving. And slowly, slowly, his black tail stopped thumping the ground, his muscles relaxed, his eyes half closed. A white…rectangular?…sheet was brought out. How they loaded him into it I didn't know. The sheet bearing Sandstorm was whisked into the van, which zoomed away. I lifted my head and neighed after it. Then, my head was pulled down. Steele and I were next. The white-coated humans were running their hands up and down our legs, cold, round metal disks were being pressed to our sides, and we were walked to and fro. 

   I was declared "Fine!" What did "Fine!" mean? I puzzled over this, worried about Sandstorm, and watched as something small and white was pressed against Steele's neck. He didn't even flinch.

   I studied him and waited.

   Soon, he turned his head and his cold black eyes met my brown ones. His ears threatened to flatten against his head. He plainly saw what had happened, might even have been responsible for it, and yet he did not care? 

   Heat rushed to my head. I bared my teeth and started for him.

   A hand to the muzzle and a pull of the reins stopped me. "Wind!" Chaya's voice was close to my ear. And she wasn't very happy with me. "What do you think you're doing? We have enough injured horses already! Are you going to add two more?" I shook my head, tossed my mane, and tried to tell her in every way I knew that she was wrong about thinking that I started the earlier fight as she led me away from the track. 

   My anger at Steele was soon lost to worrying about Sandstorm. Would he be alright? I'd seen this happen back in the wild. I'd been a weanling back then, when one of the two-year-olds stepped on a loose stone running down a steep incline, lost his balance, and fell. 

   That time, it had been the left forefoot of the colt. His ankle had started to swell almost immediately. Fortunately, my mother was nearby at that time. She rushed over, and soon had the sick horse half submerged in the water of a stream. "That's what the humans do when it happens," she'd told me. "I've seen this before. The cold water will help keep down the swelling. We will have to take turns guarding him." And so they did. My mother had taken first watch that night, dozing at the bank of the stream, ready to rear and fight with her hooves any predator that threatened to come near the frightened colt. Our herd stood nearby, ready to come to her aid whenever she called. Over the next moons, members of the herd had voluntarily helped the colt hobble to land for food, back into the water, and stood guard always.

   In a new moon, the colt was as good as new. If only they would let us horses do the same. But at that time, that colt's ankle had only swelled. There hadn't been a crunching sound. I was sure that Sandstorm's leg was broken, but still pretty confident that the treatment would work the same miracle. 

   Back in the paddock, I paced, my stomach churning, to worried to graze. Moon came over and rubbed her nose along my spine. We stood together, whispering ideas, wondering what was happening at the barn where they had taken Sandstorm.

   Sir Peppero was turned in a few minutes later. He walked over slowly, his head hanging. 

   "They say he tried to bite Steele," he mumbled. "Steele pulled away, nearly crashing into the rail. Sandstorm was out of balance. He fell, leaning against Steele, and they went down together. His ankle must have twisted, and with the weight of two horses and two humans, it broke."

   We stood in silence. 

   Moon whuffed one last time in my face and slipped away to tell the other horses. Sir Peppero stood awkwardly for another long moment and turned away too.  I resumed pacing.

   The humans came for us at dusk. No one spoke or laughed. One by one, we were led to the barn. 

   Tonight, no one pranced, nipped, or neighed. No one was happy. We filed into our stalls, silent and brooding.

   Food was brought. I reached for a mouthful and half-heartedly started chewing. Across the aisle, Moon's silver head bobbed as she tossed her mane.

   It took me twice as long to finish the hay. My ears were constantly twitching this way and that, straining to hear of any news about Sandstorm. 

   I was dozing when somebody came into the barn. 

   _BANG_! The barn door slammed shut and someone stomped up to my stall and threw themselves against the stall door. I reached over the partition and whuffed the human.

   Chaya. She looked up, water pooling in her eyes and streaming in rivulets down her human cheek. What was she doing? I cocked my head. Where did the water come from? I extended my nose. She started making a human sound. Her shoulders were heaving as she let herself into my stall, threw her arms around my neck, and buried her face in my mane.

   "Oh, boy…"Her voice was muffled. "They've got him in a cast, and he was supposed to be okay…" What did that mean? Was that Sandstorm she was talking about? Yeah, maybe it was… "But that's not the problem. He's got the fever now…" What fever? And she was definitely talking about Sandstorm…

   "He's fighting it, but he's losing. They're considering putting him down…" Put my best friend down where? 

   "Wind, _do you understand_?" She had lifted her face at last and was shaking me. Understand what? 

   "They're thinking about _killing_ him…" 

   _That_ I understood. I didn't know the word _killing_, but I understood what she meant.

   _What_? Did I understand her correctly?

   A shiver ran through my body. My mane was soaked with Chaya's tears.

   With another sob, she staggered through the stall door, locked it, and started up the aisle. The door wasn't far. 

   I neighed after her. She didn't turn as the barn door closed with another _BANG_.

   I was left to form my own conclusions. 

   Sandstorm was in another barn. If I could get out and see him, at least I would know what happened to him. 

   I leaned over my stall door again. The lock didn't look complicated. The humans undid it all the time without looking anymore. I closed my teeth on it and started to fiddle with the latch.

   My mane fell over my eyes. I was aware of Moon watching, wide awake across the aisle.

   All night, the latch clinked. But it never budged, and the door didn't move. 

   I threw my weight against the door in frustration. And tried again. 

   Dawn came. I gave up and drew back in my stall. 

   Chaya came. Dick came. Terri came. Other grooms came. Today, same as yesterday evening, the barn was silent. 

   We horses were silent too.

   We went through the grooming, tacking up, and working-out at the track. I didn't concentrate, lost in worry over Sandstorm and whether or not he would become dog food.

   Chaya didn't tell me until she had finished walking and cooling me down. Then, she wordlessly led me inside another barn. 

   My hooves clopped on the stone aisle. Chaya turned and shushed me. "I'm not supposed to be taking you here," she whispered fiercely. 

   She stopped when we reached the last stall. And there, on the hay, was Sandstorm. He was lying on his side, his bay body gleaming, his black mane and tail straight and not tangled, his eyes closed.

   He was going to be okay! The cast was gone, and he looked like he was getting the rest he needed. The broken ankle looked all right too, even though it was wrapped from hock to canon with a white bandage.

   Chaya opened the stall door and I pulled her inside eagerly.

   Sandstorm! I whuffed in his face happily, careful not to wake him. Behind me, Chaya buried her face in my back, sobbing again. 

   Why was she crying? I reached behind and lipped her hair reassuringly. Sandstorm was going to be okay! Was she crying tears of joy?

   But why was he so still? So still… …so still… what was wrong? He wasn't moving. I leaned closer and pressed my nose to his cheek.

   And jumped back almost immediately. His cheek was cold. Cold and stiff…

   I pressed his cheek again. He should have woken up by now. Why hadn't he woken up?

   He was a sound sleeper…

   Chaya sobbed louder.

   I ran my nose the entire length of his body. Also stiff, also cold…

   Come to mention it, he was very still…and stiff… and cold…

   So still…in fact, he wasn't breathing…

   Wasn't breathing?!… 

   I pulled back with horror.

   Chaya crouched down, sniffling, and peeled back the bandage on Sandstorm's ankle.

   The damage was incredible. His skin was open to the bone, with bone splinters sticking out through it. It looked like his foot had snapped in half, and one end of the sharp bone had gone through…

   I blanched.

   "They were operating on him when it happened," Chaya whispered. "He woke up from the anesthesia and started thrashing. That made the curable wound an irreversible damage. He wouldn't be able to walk, much less run even if he did recover from the fever…"

   I tuned her out, running my nose through his body again. She rewrapped the bandage gently.  

   "Sandstorm wake up," I snorted in his ear, desperation rising in the pit of my stomach.

   "Sandstorm!" That was a whinny. He would have at least moved if he had heard me… …or if he could still hear me… 

   I nipped him. My teeth closed on his neck, and he didn't even flinch or move or jerk or open his eyes to look at me and say, _I'm still aliv_e…

   I half-reared back, my head spinning. Maybe if I whinnied loud enough, he would wake up…No, I would make sure he woke up… I would stay by his side and nip and whinny and wake him up, and I wouldn't care if he turned deaf because of me, because I would make sure he woke up because he was going to wake up, whether he wanted to or not, because I was going to force him to, because I didn't know what I would do if he never woke up again…

   But a small part of me was already saying, _No, he's gone… … you can't do anything anymore… _

   _Yes I could_, I fought back. He's just still asleep, maybe he's under medicine and won't wake up that easily, _but_ _he's going to wake up_…_he just couldn't be dead…_

   I threw back my head, took a deep breath, and trumpeted a full scream right into his ear. My eyes started moving, looking, searching for any sign of movement…

   Did I imagine it or did his ear twitch? Did his hoof move? Did he half-open his eyes? 

   _Come on Sandstorm, wake up… … …_

He didn't.

   Chaya's sobs had turned louder still.

   Why was she crying like that? Sandstorm wasn't dead, he just wasn't, because he _just_ _couldn't be…_

   I trumpeted again. And again. And again. How many times, I lost count. All I knew was that I had to wake him. 

   Chaya's arms had gone around my neck again. "Come on, boy," she moaned, tugging at the lead rope. I dug in my feet and refused to budge. _Sandstorm was just sleeping…He's gonna wake up soon, and it'll be like old times…_

   "Let's get out of here.. _come on, Wind_…he's not going to wake up anymore…not ever again…they injected him this morning…_come on Wind!"_  

   _Sandstorm will wake up, and he'll grin and say that it had all been a trick, that we're going back to the paddock right now to run and play…_ I fought harder. _Then I'll tell him how much I miss him and to be more careful when running on the track…_

   "Wind, STOP IT!!"

   My ears were ringing. I stopped.

   I kept hearing her words all over again.  _He's not going to wake up ever again… He's not going to wake up ever again… He's not going to wake up ever again… _

   My head started spinning faster. Sandstorm wasn't going to wake up…Sandstorm is dead…Sandstorm was gone forever…

   Wood splintered as my hooves flew against the stall door. I burst out of the stall, flew down the aisle, and rushed out through the open barn door into the yard, Chaya clinging to my mane.

  No he isn't…he's still here…he's still alive… 

   I whirled, looking for an escape. I had to get away from it all… had to get away…

   Grooms and horses were staring. I didn't care. 

   There! To the right. An opening. I shot through, running.

   "Wind!" Chaya gasped. She was hanging on by mere handfuls of hair. I slowed down and allowed her to swing herself up on my back.

   We jogged back to the paddock, not to the barn. Chaya slid off and shut the paddock gate behind me. I whirled and began circling the paddock, galloping. 

   _No…Sandstorm isn't dead…He's still alive, waiting for me…He's just in the other field…we'll whuff faces again, and talk about how to get Steele in trouble…_

Go right. Run…Run…Run..

   _He's dead…he's gone..you can't do anything anymore… no he's not dead, he's just sleeping…a very deep sleep…_

  Go left, run, run, keep on running…

   _Stop that…stop believing things that can't happen anyway…_

   I went faster. The trees and grass blended into a line of green.

   _Sandstorm is ALIVE….he can't be dead…he's just over in that other barn…pretty soon he'll be back here, running with me… if he's alive, why was he so still? How come he didn't wake up when you called him? _

   Faster, faster…

   _What will I do if Sandstorm is dead? Who will stick by my side? Of course he's still alive…No he can't be…Maybe you just didn't call him loud enough…_

   _FASTER, FASTER…_

   "Spirit!"

   _What about Steele? Can't he feel any remorse? Is he –_

   "SPIRIT!"

  _ –a cold-blooded killer? Will he do the same to me? …Is someone calling me?_

   I slowed. _Oh Sandstorm, my friend, my brother –_

   "**SPIRIT!**"  

   Yes, someone was calling me. Someone was calling me my real name.

   I slid to a stop, panting, my flanks streaming with sweat. 

   A silver shape stood by the fence. Moon.

   "I'm sorry." So she knew. We stood silently by the fence. "I'm really, really, so sorry," she whickered again.

   Behind her, one by one, the other horses were led in from their morning workouts. Their coats were gleaming. They flashed their tails and began grazing. Steele wasn't among them.

   Didn't they have a care in the world? Didn't they know…

   And suddenly, I was wide awake, as if I was seeing all the grass and the trees and the flowers for the first time. Everything was fine, and the sun was shining, and it was the same as the home I'd known for who-knows-how-many-moons, but at the same time, it all looked different without Sandstorm…

   Night came. I couldn't sleep. My furious running had been reduced to pacing. Soon, I'd worn down a path around the paddock.

   Morning came. I couldn't concentrate on workouts. My times were some of the poorest I'd ever had. Sims looked jubilant. 

   The next few moons passed in a whirl.

   Night. 

   Morning.

   Everywhere I went, every single move I made, I was reminded of Sandstorm. By now, the other horses knew. And thankfully, they left me alone.

   I brooded, becoming irritable and short-tempered. Before, my nips and bites had been for fun. Now, I was snapping everywhere. Even Sir Peppero left me alone.

   Day.

   The grief was numbing.

   Night.

   I couldn't sleep. It was as if, when Sandstorm went, he had taken a part of me with him. 

   And day. This had to stop. From the moment I'd last seen Sandstorm, I hadn't slept a wink. I'd dozed, napped, but never really slept, jerking awake at every little sound. I was becoming tired.

   As a result, I wasn't finishing my feed, and my general performance flopped. When I was in the stable stall, I paced. If I was in the paddock, I trotted, or cantered. Endlessly.

   Today was no different. I couldn't live like this, could I? For the rest of my life…

   I whirled, cantered the paddock, turned and went out in a straight out run. The fence was high…but I could still try…

   I bounded over the fence, landing with a gentle thud on the other side.

  Moon's head shot up from where she had been grazing. She looked alarmed. Then she smiled. I lipped her mane and slowly made my way to the 'woods'. It had been a while since I'd been there, and I needed quiet and a place to think.

   Night came. I was still in the woods. Everything just kept going around and around in circles in my head. I stood for hours and watched the brook ripple and flow and wondered why it had to happen to Sandstorm. Why not me? Why not anybody else? He had been so kind, and so nice to me when I first came here…

   A twig snapped. In the wild, I would have whirled to face whoever it was immediately, but this was different.

   "Spirit?" Moon. Moon had come.

   She clopped over beside me and together, we watched the moon dancing on the water surface.

   Moon knew. As my track partner, as the one who usually ran with me in the mornings, she knew of slow times at the track, of unfinished feed, of sleepless nights, of everything.

   She would understand.

   "Why did it have to happen to him?" Why was I asking her out loud? Would she know the answer? Maybe she would…

   "I don't know." Turns out she didn't…

   "Why him? It could have been me. Or somebody else. Or anybody else. He was so nice. And he got dragged into it all because of me. Steele never hated him. Steele was targeting _me_, not him. What did Sandstorm have to do with Steele?" Questions I had asked myself thousands of times.

   My head drooped.

   "Sandstorm wouldn't have wanted it this way." 

   "How would he have wanted it?"

   She turned to look at me. "He would have wanted you to go on with your life, not live like this."

   Silence.

   "How do you know?"

   "I just know."

   That didn't help much.

   "Thanks anyway." 

   More silence. What happened to the earlier times, when I would crack a joke, she would make up a wisecrack, and we would laugh together until our stomachs hurt?

   Now, we were reduced to silence.

   "Thanks," I repeated.

   Moon was studying me. She gave my mane a gentle tug and turned to go.

   "Go to sleep, Spirit."

   _Sandstorm wouldn't have wanted it this way…Sandstorm wouldn't have wanted it this way…He would have wanted you to get on with your life…get on with your life…wanted it this way… gone forever…won't ever wake again…wanted it this way…get on with your life… go to sleep Spirit…to sleep Spirit… wanted it this way…gone forever…sleep, Spirit…_

   Moon. Sandstorm. Chaya. Their voices were swirling in my head, the words ringing in my ears in an endless train, their echoes going round and around, and around…

   Stop. I couldn't make them stop.

   _Gone forever…won't wake again…don't live like this…_

   Round and round…

   _Live your life… go to sleep… wanted it this way…_

   So tired…just so tired…

   _Sandstorm wouldn't have wanted it… get on with your life…_

   My eyelids were drooping, my knees swaying…

   _Go to sleep, Spirit…he's gone forever…wanted it this way…_

  Very tired…so sleepy…very sleepy…

   _Go to sleep, Spirit…sleep Spirit…gone… forever…sleep…_

   My eyes closed. 

   _Sleep…_

   I slept.

   And I dreamed. In my dream, the stallion came again. The black stallion. _The_ black stallion. I was restless. I couldn't sleep in my dream. I was so tired, very tired, and also so cold I was shivering, and I couldn't sleep. I asked him, _Why did this happen to Sandstorm?_ He didn't answer me. _Why_? I persisted. He nickered, reached over, and whuffed in my face. His warm breath came out as a mist in the cold night air, but when it reached my face, it was still hot. There was a tingling feeling left, a tingling which spread over until my whole body was bathed in warmth.

   _Sleep…_

   And in my dream, I fell asleep. 


	11. Galilean

Disclaimer: I don't own the Black…I don't own the Black…I don't own the Black… I don't own the Black

A/N: Hey people! Long-time-no-update – sorry, my fault. So, I'll make up for that by putting out four chapters…

Chapter 10

   A large, red-tinged-with-orange leaf flew up and smacked me on the nose.   

   "Ow!" 

   Other leaves, same in color but smaller in size, swirled up around us, blowing, blowing…

   We were in the woods, Chaya and I. She was standing beside me, holding the reins, and bending over a patch of damp earth beside the tree.

   "There." She stuck the cross she had made with two sticks unto the ground and straightened, dusting off her gloved hands. 

   There wasn't a tombstone, but if there was, I knew what it would have said.

   _Sandstorm, by Sand Dune out of Cheyenne Papoose, our dear brother and friend, born: the twelfth moon of The-Month-After-The-Cold-Winds-Blow, died: the twenty seventh moon of Falling-Leaves-Month,_ _Age: Two Winters, six full moons, and twenty-seven moons old. _

   But Sandstorm wasn't here. Sandstorm wasn't lying under the dirt or the cross or the single flower Chaya had gently placed on top of everything. 

   Sandstorm's body was gone, taken who-knows-where in a huge truck. There wasn't even a funeral, human or equine. 

   When a horse dies in the wild back home, his herd paws dirt over the body, and if they can, rolls some stones over it to keep scavengers from preying on it. I'd only heard this from my mother, not seen it myself. When a horse dies here, the humans sometimes sell the body to become animal food.  

   And since there wasn't a funeral, we were having one ourselves. 

   Chaya had led me here today, and made a small mound the size of four hooves and half a hoof high at the base of a leaf-less giant with bare spreading branches, and ringed it with stones and pebbles. The cross went in, and the flower went on top.

   We looked up at the sound of hooves. Terri, Sandstorm's rider, and Dick came riding Marionette, Moon and leading Fire Phoenix with a lead line. Good thing they had 'forgotten' to bring Steele.

   The humans dismounted and came leading the horses closer.

   We stood in a half circle around the simple mound. 

   Silence. The humans bowed their heads, we horses lowered our eyes, and everybody stood in silence.

   I reached over and pressed a hoof in the dark dirt, leaving an imprint at the center of the stones.

   The silence was broken by Chaya, who gave a loud muffled sob. Her face was blotchy and red again, and tears were trickling down her cheeks. I leaned over and licked her face. She threw her arms around my neck and almost choked me with her hug. Dick pulled her away gently, lifted her and set her on my back. I turned my head and tried to nibble her hand, failed, and settled on snuffling her knee instead. Terri mounted Marionette, and with Fire Phoenix on the lead line, slowly trotted away.

   I blew out though my nose and waited for Dick to mount Moon and ride off. To my surprise, he jumped up on me too, and with one hand on the reins and the other around Chaya, we started off, Moon trotting beside me.

   Carrying two riders felt strange. We trotted all the way back, away from the biting wind and into our warm stable.

   Life went on after Sandstorm's death. It was like I was hurting all over. I didn't pace anymore, and my times at the track were improving; feed boxes were coming clean again, and at night, I was sleeping, but there was still this hole where Sandstorm had been

   The very mention of 'sand', 'storm', 'caramel', 'bay', or anything that had to do with Sandstorm triggered painful memories.

   When I was led past his stall, I would remember him standing there with his head over the door, and it's emptiness would again remind me of why he wasn't standing there and the reason for that reason. Soon, another horse would stand there.

   In the paddock, I now had no one to talk to the way we had talked. I would look over the fence and count one, two, three, four horses grazing when there should have been five.

   At the track, I would start the warm up, my head filled with images of a handsome caramel-bay colt with black markings pounding down the track, his rider perched high up in the saddle. And then I would remember the time I saw him run at a race, the only time I had ever seen him at a formal race meet, and I would remember him flying down the homestretch, his head held high and forward, black mane and tail streaming behind, his hooves flashing as his legs churned faster and faster and propelled him towards the finish line.

   Remembering Sandstorm also made me remember why he wasn't here now, and every time I saw Steele, prancing, running, grazing, sleeping, his black coat gleaming, my anger grew.

   I'd been grazing one afternoon, beside the fence. Steele had come up beside me on the other side.

   "Hey! IT the half-breed!"

   I continued grazing, but my ears were now pricked, since he was speaking in a whisper. 

   "Do you want to know how I did it? How I made him trip and fall on the track that workout?"  He was talking about Sandstorm. Was he confessing now?

   I stayed silent.

   "Actually, I got the idea from _you._" 

   _What?! _

   "Yes." His voice was triumphant. I must have been wearing a very shocked look on my face, because he continued, " He was leaning toward me, trying to bite me. I leaned away, then went faster a bit. When I was a few inches ahead, I rolled back my eye, gauged the distance–" he pretended that there was another horse beside him, to his right " –like this–" he was actually leaning left, my way " – and I kicked backward with my foot –" he showed me " – I hit him square then when he was out of balance, I turned and bit him. He was leaning on me right then, and when we fell together, I made sure that I fell on _him_. Did you see the look on his face? I bet that if he could have, he'd actually go running back here, crying "_Mommy_!"    

   He was relishing telling me about it. "Do you want me to show you again? Huh, half breed? Maybe I can practice on you! I could do it, you know? In fact, I'll come over there right now, and we'll practice together, do you want that? I'll hook, you pretend to be that big crybaby, and when the humans come, we'll show them the brand-new trick we learned." He snickered. "Well, actually, it'll just be me showing them, because you'll be just like him, lying on the ground, crying for yo –"

   "Would you mind not telling me?" I cut in dryly. "Because you never know; someday, when I'm running beside you, I just might use that one on _you_. And that time, it wouldn't be in a training track back here, it would be in a real race with thousands of humans watching –" I paused to survey his face and continued, " – the great, almighty, lollipop-headed Steele trip and fall like a minute old foal."

   The tips of his ears and nose turned red. Brighter red than glossy apples or fresh roses, so red it looked like he had dipped his nose in a can of red paint, or that someone had dabbed blood on his ears.

   I calmly returned to grazing and left him standing there, fuming, wondering if I would really do what I had threatened to do someday. 

   I wondered myself. I'd never thought of myself as a killer.

   Steele obviously had a different opinion.    

   In the passing days he became bolder, flashing looks and glares filed with hatred and contempt my way once again. It was as if, to him, Sandstorm's accident was a victory, a huge victory over what had happened at the fight, and later when he was humiliated in front of everybody.

   And in remembering all that, guilt filled me. Somehow, I felt that the accident was also my fault, that I had a part in it. If it had not been for Steele's continuing war with me, if I had not been his best friend, Sandstorm would have had nothing to do with anything. If Steele had not been so mad at me, and afraid that he might lose if he tried to fight me again, he would never had taken his anger out on Sandstorm.    

   The gusty wind and swirling leaves soon gave way to the familiar bitter cold once more. Winter had come again. In the spring, I would turn three years old. _Three years old._ Mother's words were once again ringing in my ears. Only one more year before I could escape again…

   There were only two horses who were keeping me here: Sandstorm and Moon. With Sandstorm gone, the list had gone down to one. Moon…Moon had said that she would come with me if we could escape. My path to freedom was clear. If only I could find a way to escape. 

   Chaya was my rider and friend, but she would always be human and stay in the human world. She would never be able to live out in the wild with us. Miss her as we would… 

   With these possibilities, my thoughts began to turn more and more toward home again. I began daydreaming of what we would do once we get home, what we would say, what the other horses would look like, what their reactions would be when they saw us.

   Daydreaming about running away didn't help me forget. But daydreaming did help take some of the pain away, and the sharp pang of loss began to fade. After a long while, the pain had now become a sadness, just a deep sadness.

   With the shock leaving, anger flooded in. Anger at Steele, for being the cause of it all. Anger at myself, for letting this happen to Sandstorm. Anger that I hadn't done anything about it, that I hadn't stopped Steele earlier, that it had been him when it should have been me.

   I didn't take this anger out on the other horses, or on the grooms. I channeled this anger toward a new release: my running.

   With fall almost over, and my third winter(the humans would have called it my third birthday)  approaching, I was now eligible to run in the Triple Crown races, something Chaya had been telling me about and training me for since I first came. And I had no doubt that Sims would enter Steele and me both. 

   Winning the Triple Crown was an honor. A huge honor. And it hadn't been done for years.

   It was there that I planned to take out my revenge. Revenge for the other horses' being bullied. Revenge for Sandstorm. Revenge forme_._

   My third spring passed in a flurry of melting snow, running at the track, trail-rides with Chaya, moonlit over-the-fence conversations with Moon about anything and everything, yet more running at the track, and soon, my first race for the year. 

   This spring brought new joys to life, but it also brought new problems to face. Before, there were good horses, fast horses whom we ran against, but there hadn't been any who were fast enough to pose really big problems about winning in ordinary races, aside from Steele and Runaway, a gray gelding. 

   Runaway  was seasoned, because he was already five years old. He had a lot 

of strategies too, or rather, his jockey had; Runaway just carried them out. And Runaway was fast; he had even more stamina than both of us three-year-olds.

   But this spring, Galilean arrived. Galilean was a dark brown colt with three, even, white socks running up his legs and a wide blaze down his face. He was from the West Coast, so none of us had ever run against him before.  Which also meant none of us had any idea about his running style, what kind of ground he liked, etc, etc, etc. 

   Galilean posed a new threat. He had broken two track records, and set two new ones. 

   "He's European stock, that one is," Sir Peppero mumbled through a mouthful of grass on a morning we were turned out to graze. "Dam's from Ireland, sire from England, but he was born here; his dam was sold while still in foal. Heard it from the others." 'The others' meant the other track horses/ponies who were always sharing tidbits of gossip and information.

   As always, Sir Peppero knew almost everything about the racing world. And he wasn't shy about sharing the information, whether he had an audience or not.

   In this case, he had a very attentive audience. I paced before him, thinking, imagining Galilean, what the colt was like, what was his style, planning ways to get past him. A few feet away, from the corner of my eye, I saw Steele grazing, but also listening closely.

   I ignored the look Steele sent shooting my way when I caught his eye and continued pacing.

   "They say anything about his times?"

   Sir Peppero thought. And chewed. And thought some more. Then he shook his white-black-speckled head. " Nah, he's new, so nobody knows yet. They'll be running him in his first race Saturday. And if they run him at a oval on the farm, there's still no way we're going to know until the day of the race, or as soon as we get to the track." 

   _Saturday_. That was five days away. My race was also on Saturday. Uh oh…

   "We'll clash," I muttered, tearing a mouthful of grass from the ground. I wasn't talking about color. At least, even though Steele was also running on Saturday, we were in different races. I _so_ do not want to run against Galilean when nobody knew anything about him yet. 

   Well, not _everything_.

   Sir Peppero chuckled. "You don't even know what time he's running yet. You could be in two different races. But ya'll clash, alright. And I'm not talking color. Either of you'd sure give him a run for his money."  He jerked his head in Steele's general direction. A stalk of grass was dangling from his lip.

   That was true.

   "But we could be entered in the same race!"

   Sir P nodded slowly, his black-and-white salt-and-pepper mane falling back over his neck. "Yup."

   Steele, his coal-black head now raised, was still watching us over the fence.   

   My worst fears were confirmed. By Friday night, we were already at the racetrack, several other Oakwood Acres horses in stalls both sides of mine. 

   Two grooms with blankets over their shoulders walked past. I caught snatches of their conversation. 

   "Big one tomorrow," one of them said.

   "Yep. Fast one too. Here's one of them." The other groom paused several stalls from me, down the aisle.

   "Where's the other? Get a good look at them; you have to win that bet with Greg about who wins tomorrow." 

   "Ah, here he is." One of the grooms had backtracked until he reached my stall. I raised my head from the water trough. "Hey boy." His hand went to my ears. I stayed still, muzzle dripping.

   "He'll be running 'gainst that Galilean hoss t'morrow." My ears pricked up at the word 'Galilean'.

   "So who d'ya think'll win?" Their voices floated back down here as they headed off.

   "Me? The brown's bigger…but I'll still put my bet on the dun." 

   Did I hear correctly?

   "Why?"

   "Well…I dunno...mebbe 'cause 'e looks like 'e's got somethin' the other doesn't have…" 

   I swished my tail slowly as their voices faded away. At least one of them had confidence in me. My own confidence had been an all-time low ever since I found out that I was running against Galilean, and what was left of it now had just evaporated.

   "That's your rival, boy." Chaya swung down my back and pointed. "Galilean."

   My jaw dropped open. I closed it with a snap. Chaya had told me everything she knew about Galilean's color and breeding and his training background.

   What she hadn't told me was that he was enormous. As in, ENORMOUS. 

   I'd stopped growing taller around last winter, and at around 17.5 hands, I was already considered tall for my age and breed.

   Galilean dwarfed me. He towered over us both at more than 18.8 hands. And he was built heavily, so heavily that I doubted he could really run fast over long distances.

   He was looking good today. Galilean was a deep, rich dark-brown mahogany color, with reddish glints; his socks ended at his knees, and his blaze covered his face from eyes to nostrils. But the unusual part was –

   "He has a black mane and tail, and dark points where they aren't covered by the socks or the blaze," Chaya muttered to herself. Conversations to oneself are supposed to be private, but I heard this one quite plainly. Maybe it was because she was right next to me, or maybe it was because I was thinking the same thing myself.

   Galilean's grooms (there were two) led him past us, toward the oval. In contrast to his size, his rider looked like a young human child, sitting high up in his back.

   Today, Chaya walked me to and fro by the fence outside of the oval, not wanting to miss the first morning workout of one of the most controversial horses in present times.

   We weren't the only ones.

   Terri, Sandstorm's former rider, who had now taken over as Fire Phoenix's jockey, led him this way and started walking him beside me. Beside us, other horses and their trainers and jockeys gathered around, watching.

   We waited while Galilean's trainer gave his rider instructions.

   Hid rider steered him out onto the track and began warming him up.

   "Look at him," I muttered to Fire Phoenix.

   Galilean was running in a bouncy trot. Then, without the slightest obvious signal from his rider, he moved into a smooth canter.

   We watched in silence. I held my breath. 

   They reached the half-mile post. And Galilean's rider let him out.

   There was a collective gasp, from horses and humans alike.

   From a canter, Galilean had gone into a flat-out, full, blinding gallop. He had gone from being a brown horse cantering into a brown streaking bullet.

   And right then and there, I found out another thing Chaya hadn't told me.

   Galilean's fluid strides were enormous. LONG and ENORMOUS. His legs were whipping out, and back underneath him, churning dirt, pushing him forward, faster and faster and faster. Effortlessly.

   His heavy build didn't affect his speed.

   He never settled down to a stable pace, just went on accelerating and accelerating.

   He was still accelerating when they whipped past the trainer and his rider slowed him up. 

   Galilean wasn't playful like us. He didn't throw in a buck, or a good morning nibble, or a "Hey!" snort. He obediently slowed the moment his rider asked him, and dropped into a graceful, low-swinging walk. 

   Fire Phoenix still had his mouth open.  "Close your mouth," I muttered. He did. 

   The trainer was waving his stopwatch. I could see Sims in the crowd of trainers and grooms who had gathered around Galilean. 

   "It's going to take a miracle for us to beat them," Chaya muttered. 

   They went through all the usual racing preliminaries: giving me a bath, grooming, tacking up, the inspection, then it was out in a small paddock to wait, wait, wait.

   I was in the first race for the afternoon. The sun was roaring hot today, and my coat was streaked with dark patches of sweat as I squinted around. I didn't know if hat was from the heat or from nerves.

   I didn't feel nervous anymore, just a deep sinking defeat. Galilean was already the sure winner. I would have to fight for second place.

   The gate opened behind me. I didn't turn, still staring around, looking for Chaya or Dick or Terri or Moon or anyone from our stable.

   The someone who had just come in came to stand beside me, and suddenly, I didn't have to squint anymore. His shadow had fallen across me, and several feet of ground besides. 

   I had to tilt my head back to look at him. Up close, Galilean looked even taller. He was long and lean; VERY long legs, thick neck, BIG hooves, broad body, and a LARGE head. Up close, his head looked unusually big and heavy. Too big. His hooves were too big too.

   I studied him. He studied me.

   Galilean was built heavily; thick neck, thick body, heavy head. He wouldn't last long in stamina or marathon races. His build was suited to the short, blazing fast sprints. But then, in long distances, with his fast starts, he wouldn't need that much stamina anyway. By the time he began to tire, he would be so far ahead that the other horses would never be able to catch up.

   We didn't say anything to each other. The gate opened behind us and here was a clatter of hooves. The other horses were coming in.

   I slipped into a daze, wondering, frantically looking for another way out, another strategy, some other way to beat Galilean, trying to come up with a way that we could win. 

   No ideas. No hope of winning. I was resigned to lose. And resigned to be laughed at by Steele when I went back home.

   A blast of music made me start. We were already in the post parade! How had that happened? I craned my head back, searching for the paddock, and kept walking. 

   Until I walked straight into metal bars.

   What?! No way, this was wrong, very wrong. How had I gotten here that fast? But no time to wonder, no time to think, because Chaya had tightened her grip on my mane. That meant I had to concentrate.

   I drew a deep breath. We had drawn the second position from the rail. That would make it easier, because I wouldn't have to overtake a lot of horses and burn up too much speed.

   My blood started racing. 

   The gates burst open. I shot out. We needed to make a fast start, because if Galilean had too much of a lead, we wouldn't be able to make up the distance later.

   And as I usually did in races, I tuned out the voice of the announcer and the humans in the grandstand and focused on Chaya's commands alone.

   Chaya steered me toward the rail. I settled into that position and waited. Anticipated.  Watched for what I knew was to happen.

   I was right. A brown blur shot past me to the lead. Galilean running with his jockey wearing a yellow and black silk shirt.

   I pulled at the bit. We had to catch up _now_. 

   Chaya held me back. I couldn't believe it. She had seen Galilean's speed. She _knew_. 

   I tugged again. Her hands said the same thing as last time._ Wait. _Was she crazy?

   I didn't want to wait. I wanted to pull ahead _right now_. Maybe she thought that I would burn up all my speed too early, too soon. But if she didn't let me go, none of my speed would matter anyway. Galilean was drawing even further ahead. 

   A bay shape was edging up to my right. If we didn't go _now_, we would soon be caught up in the pack. I'd been caught in the middle of a pack only once, and from that experience alone, I knew I never wanted to be in that spot again.

   Horses in front of you, horses behind you, horses beside you, and with the rail hemming you in, you would have nowhere to go.

   I lengthened my strides. Up and behind me, Chaya muttered, "If you won't do it _my_ way, then you'll have to drop back." Her hands pulled in more rein. And still some more. 

   I fought back. Her way was _wrong_. Her way would lose us the race. The bay gelding to my right was now running beside me. Galilean was a brown speck ahead.

   We would never catch up. I stopped fighting.

   Then, to my amazement, I felt the reins loosen. Completely. 

    "Go!" Chaya yelled.  Around and behind us, the other jockeys were now using their whips.

   I stretched out my head, half closed my eyes, and started to really run. 

   After the fighting, running like this felt wonderful. It was as if I was back in the paddock, galloping without reins or a saddle and a human on my back. 

_   Faster! Faster!_

   I poured on more speed. The next time I opened my eyes, Galilean was only a length ahead, his white-socked hindquarters flying smoothly.

   _Yes!_

   Chaya began kneading my neck. That meant an 'ok' for me to go all out.

   I inched up beside him. Now we were running neck to neck. 

   He rolled back his eye and glared. That didn't stop the rising happiness that threatened to spill over in me. We were going to win!

   Galilean was tiring. The distance was finally taking a toll. But the wire was only a few lengths ahead. His jockey began using his whip.

   I barged ahead. 

   But behind me, he seemed to have found a new reserve of strength. He surged forward. We were neck and neck again, and that was the way we crossed the finish line.

   Chaya pulled me up, and I stood gulping air in huge rushes.  My knees were trembling. Galilean's jockey walked him while we waited for the other horses.

   I'd never realized how far ahead we were. I'd finally stopped panting before the next horse came in.

   We waited. 

   I was sure it was a draw.

   It wasn't. 

   I'd learned that names of winners usually appeared on a large something called a billboard. Another useful lesson from Sir Peppero. Now I watched it hopefully.

   Unfortunately, he could read a little. I couldn't. Something did flash on the board, but for all the good it would do, I still didn't know anything.

   Chaya's gasp told me everything.

   Galilean had won.

   He threw me a look of triumph mixed with contempt as he was led past me to the winner's circle, and tossed his head a little as if to say, _So there _!

   I spotted the two men from last night whispering to each other as I was led away. _Sorry_, I told them silently. They had lost their bet. _But I did the best I could.   _

   Night. I stood brooding in my stall.  Galilean was impossible to beat. I could certainly look forward to being put in races against him, and losing them. And unless, by some miracle he disappeared, my plan for winning the Triple Crown would come crashing down.

   It hadn't been a good day for Oakwood Acres; I had gotten second place, Fire Phoenix ran fourth, Red Rose Petal (a two-year-old strawberry roan filly) came in last, two other horses whose names I didn't know but who were older won eleventh and third, respectively, and Steele ran a dead heat.

   That meant he had tied with another horse.

   To me, the only good thing about today was that Steele had clipped his foot when he stumbled. That was why it had been a dead heat; Steele had been ahead, then yards before the finish, he fell, and recovered just in time.

   Now, he was standing in the stall beside mine with his right forefoot in a bucket of cold water, and a three-inch long gash on that foot.

   The grooms came to say goodnight. Sims came to check on us one last time.

   I was surprised. It'd been a long time since he had done that, because of things that had to be done; he had been very busy. But now, he walked along the aisle, looking in on us, speaking to us.

   He stopped at Steele's stall and went inside. I could hear him moving around, probably arranging the hay so that his beloved Steele could be more comfortable.

   I snorted. Steele wouldn't want to be _beloved_ by anyone, horse or human, except maybe by Moon. But then, what colt or stallion wouldn't want to be _beloved_ by Moon anyway? She was fast, not to mention pretty and spunky and…the list could go on and on.

   "Hmph." Sims had reached my stall. I waited, tense, for his hand to come within range, in the hopes of giving him a goodnight bite.

   He slouched away and I drew back in my stall, disappointed.

  At least I could count on Steele not making fun of me losing, because I could retaliate by making fun of him for not winning.

   I could practically picture the scene in the pasture: 

   "_Steele, you lost! I can't believe it! The king, the leader, the great big hotshot was finally beaten! Well, you didn't actually win either… but come on! Just a few more inches? A few teeny weeny inches to win, and you couldn't even make it?" _ 

   I smiled and drifted off, dreaming of the look on his face.

   In Oakwood acres, after a race, horses are usually given a holiday of a day or two before working out lightly at the track again. 

    Mine was spent thinking.

   Standing under the tree in the paddock I shared with Sir Peppero, I would replay my last race, running it over and over in my mind, searching, looking for any sign of weakness, anything that would help me outrun (and perhaps, out-think) Galilean. 

   And the only thing I could come up with was when he had begun to tire. During shorter distances, I would have too much ground to make up to hope for a win, or in the least, a dead heat. But during longer races like the Belmont, with it's 1½ mile, the chances of winning were bigger.     

   So, during the cool mornings and windy afternoons, I stood and thought. And slowly, a plan began to formulate in my mind.

   In the beginning of the race, I would need to make a fast start, then stay by Galilean's side all the way to the wire, leaning on stamina to help me keep up the fast pace, and then when he began to show signs of tiredness, relying on a blazing sprint to take me ahead.

   I was sure it would work; it had to. But there were two problems. One was the fast pace. Too fast, and too early, and I would be burned out even before the middle of the race. That would be disastrous.

   So I had a solution: work on improving my stamina.

  The second problem: Chaya.

   How could I make her understand what I wanted to do? What had happened on Saturday – the pull-and-pull-harder fight between me and her–could cost us the race. I could get the bit in my teeth and race away with her as I had once done, but, being a lot more experienced, she was now more wary and alert, and being used to me doing that didn't help a bit. That would have done the trick and solved the whole problem of being held back if I could get away with it. Which was nearly impossible, unless I caught her off her guard, which now happened rarely, if it ever happened at all.

   And unless I learned how to speak English in a matter of a few months at most, which, saying, was also impossible because of the shape of my mouth, my plan wouldn't be any use at all.

   I needn't have worried. The next morning, on the day when I was about to resume intensive training again, Chaya told me that Sims wouldn't be at the rail today. That was because he was sick. And he was sick because he had yelled himself hoarse at her Saturday. And that was partly because of her, and partly because of me.

   "He was hoarse after yelling at me. On Sunday, he caught cold. He ignored it and came to work anyway. And that's how he got sick," Chaya said while grooming me. "Ken's taking over for as long as he's still staying home." Ken was the assistant trainer. "I hope he doesn't get well soon. Ken's good enough to keep things going, and he's definitely nicer than _him_." She thought that way too? I bobbed my head in approval. "I shouldn't say that," she mumbled. "He's my superior." She sounded like she didn't mean it. I knew she didn't. _If he gets well, I hope his voice never goes back to him_,_ and that he'll be hoarse for the rest of his life_. _That way, nobody has to ever listen to him again, _I added silently.

   To me, being the cause, even if it was only partly, of getting a competent trainer with a rotten personality sick was real reason for celebration.

   Today, the atmosphere around the track was so different from the old one I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't felt it myself. The grooms smiled and chatted while they worked, the horses were suddenly very quiet, docilely following their humans (I don't know why), and everybody was relaxed. Today, there was no Sims to make stinging criticisms against the times of the horses or even the way the riders rode; there wasn't anybody who would frown at a horse who'd sidestepped in excitement; nor was there somebody who would yell at the riders for the slightest mistake they made. Or scold people for smiling or whistling or laughing as they worked. 

    Chaya tacked me up and led me outside, where we waited for the track to be clear before going in.

   It had been a good workout, beautifully ran. I'd obeyed Chaya every single time, and she swung off my back grinning. Ken gave her a thumbs up and a "Good job!" before turning to the next horse.

   She patted my neck, and told me, " Run and behave that way every day and I'll make sure you get a guaranteed lifetime supply of carrots and apples."

   I laughed a horse laugh. The way I was planning it, her offer would soon expire.

   And besides, there wouldn't be any carrots or apples at the place where I planned to spend the rest of my life anyway.

   The good mood lasted three days, during which the two of my least favorite people/horses stayed away.

   Steele was still (It rhymes!) in the stable with one leg soaking in cold water when Sims came back to work.

   The happy atmosphere vanished the moment he appeared.

   Now, the only place with a happy atmosphere was at the paddocks. Without Steele, Moon, Marionette and Fire Phoenix were free to roam around and talk about him any way and in any volume they wanted.    

   "I wish he'd clip his leg every single race," sighed Marionette. "It's so much nicer around here without him ruining the view."

   "He wouldn't like hearing that," Moon whickered even though her eyes were twinkling.

   "I don't care." Marionette tossed her head and went into a gallop around the paddock, Moon flying behind her.

   That was one thing they missed. If Steele was there, he would have snapped at them to stop it and walk like fillies, not run around like colts. He didn't like laughter either, unless it was laughter at something he said. 

   Marionette slid to a stop and raised her head haughtily. "DO YOU HEAR THAT? I DON'T CARE ABOUT WHAT YOU THINK!" She yelled toward the stables. 

   The mares grazing with their foals nearby, in the next field raised their heads from the grass and gave her disapproving looks.

   Marionette ignored them.

   I decided to play along. "Did I hear what I thought I heard? Did you address me without my name? Have you forgotten what I was called?" I put an extremely pompous look on my face and paraded in front of them. "I'll remind you then. My name is Steele, spelled S-T-E-E-L-E, and I am Steele the Stinkface.  You shall call me Your-Oh-So-Stinky-Royal-Highness, Sir Steele the Smelly. You shall call me that, or else I will go over there and make you eat every single blade of grass. You shall eat the grass or else I will bite you, and I will not stop biting until every single blade of grass in that paddock is gone, understand? You shall call me hat, and I shall rule over you, and you shall obey my every single whim or else I will trample you under my completely royal hooves." I stuck my nose in the air and pranced toward them.

   Moon was choking, trying not to laugh out loud. Fire Phoenix was grinning widely.  

   Marionette bowed her bay head mockingly, her black forelock falling low over her eyes. "Oh, yes, I understand, Your-Oh-So-Stinky-Royal-Highness, Sir Steele the Smelly, Sir Steele the Mean, Sir Steele the–I wonder what he's doing right now?" she interrupted herself. "Maybe he's in the stable writhing in pain. Or maybe he's licking the cut and tasting his own blood." She shrugged and went on. " Oh well. Sir Steele the Bossy, Sir Ste–" 

   "How about Sir Steele the Angry?" said a very cold, very familiar, and right now, very furious voice.

   Marionette gasped.

   Steele was standing by the paddock rail, grinning icily. Beside him, a young human groom sat on the rail, looping Steele's lead line around the top rail.

   I studied the groom. He was new here; I'd only seen him around for the last couple of weeks. And from what I was hearing from Chaya and from stable-talk, he was also ignorant, careless, and indifferent. But since he was here, he was obviously good enough for Sims.

   "Wondering what I'm doing out of the stable?" He asked. "I'm just checking on _my_ herd." He emphasized the 'my', lifted his forefoot and showed us the white bandage wrapped around it, then turned and nickered to the human.

   "All right, I'll let you stretch your legs, but you don't go running, all right?" drawled the human. He looked like he couldn't have cared less, like he was a human in a park and Steele was a puppy dog who's just begged to have a run. 

   Was the human crazy? I stared as the human lazily untied the lead line and let Steele into the paddock. With this kind off leg injury, horses weren't supposed to go around running; they shouldn't even be walking bouncily, as Steele was doing right now; they should have been hobbling around, taking small, slow steps to prevent them worsening their wounds.

   Marionette was standing frozen, a look of shock and disbelief etched on her face. Steele sniggered as he went past her, then turned and headed straight for us.

   Moon was backing away. As she went past me, I heard her mutter," Oh no, I do not like this…I really do not like this…"

   Steele stalked toward her, barely limping, though I could see his teeth were clenched at the pain.

   He stopped and thrust his nose forward, so that his face was inches from Moon's. He had her backed against the fence. 

   "Get away." Moon's voice was trembling. "I said, _Get away from me!_"

   "I don't think I will," Steele's voice dripped sarcasm. " Not until you tell me what it was that you thr–you four were talking about before I came here. Was it something usual? Or was it something…shall we say…something that you wouldn't want me to hear? Hmm?"

   Moon threw me a terrified look.

   Steele's icy grin grew wider.

   "How about something that we've all wanted you to hear for a long, long, time?" Marionette offered. She seemed to have found her voice. 

   I caught Marionette's eye and shook my head warningly. If she went and provoked Steele now, who knew what he would do to her? Or to Moon? Or to anybody? 

   Marionette saw me, but went barging on anyway. What was she playing at? No offense to her; Marionette was really nice, but she was also very outspoken. And determined. And stubborn. _Don't tell him anything_, I mouthed. 

   "You know–"I shook my head more forcefully than before. Didn't she get the message? "– we think that you–"  

   "Hey, break it up!" I heaved a sigh of relief that, thankfully, went unnoticed. "Come on! What is this, a meeting or what? I thought you just wanted to stretch your legs!" The human was now scolding Steele; he seemed to have finally come to his senses.

   He glanced at his watch, which was something, I've learned, that tells humans the time and is worn around the arm. "Look at the time! Hurry up; we've got to get back or Uncle'll have my neck."

   The line was on in a flash, and he was leading Steele away before we knew it.

   Marionette was looking as though she had just been told that she was banned from the pasture and would have to spend the rest of her life in a stall. And Marionette loved running.

   Moon exhaled.

   "He has an uncle here?" I asked in disbelief, my eyes still on the distant speck that was Steele and the groom as the three of us gathered around the corner post of the paddock.

   Marionette didn't answer; she was busy rubbing her nose on Moon's neck. 

   "Sims." Moon said quietly.

   I frowned. "What does he have to do with anything?"

   "Didn't you know? That was Sims' nephew."

   Oh. Ok…

   "If he was the nephew of a famous Triple Cup winner-trainer, then why was he so…so…" I searched for a word.

   "So clueless about horses?" Marionette threw a disdainful look back at the human groom.

   "Yep."

   " I don't know…you should ask Sir Peppero…and if he doesn't know, he'd still give you his opinion about _him_…and probably about everything else…"

   "Sorry, just curious…"

    I really didn't want to know anything about a future Sims duplicate; I already have enough trouble with one of them, and this nephew looked like he would turn out to be very much like his uncle.

   I suppose it runs in the family.

   As it turned out, I needn't have worried about Galilean at all. For a while anyway. After that first race, his owners must have thought that he was now a lose-proof racehorse, and shipped him off to Florida to race there.

   That was good news and bad news. Good news, because now I'd at least have an easier time winning races. Bad news because, now, I couldn't test my theory, and if it didn't work, I wouldn't have enough time to think up a new one if he came back.

   And he would be coming back. Sir Peppero had said that, come summer, Galilean would be shipped back here.

   In time for the Triple Cup. And he'd hinted that the brown colt might be entered in one or two races before that.

   Oh well. You can't have everything in life.

   But at least I had something to look forward to.

   _Only a year left…… _


	12. Galilean Returns

Disclaimer: Me no owner the Black… …   oh well:…

Chapter 11

   I knew Galilean was coming back. One way or another, he was coming back.

   Unless something drastically drastic happened to him, like he broke his leg (which was not likely to happen; if you tried to do it, he'd probably kick you over and crush your skull first; if he tripped himself…), or he broke his neck(considering the thickness of it…) or he got colic …or he somehow died… … _if _ he died, that would be too much to ask for…

  ( I shouldn't really say that, considering I've got his best interests at heart…)

   So, I waited. The snow melted away while winter turned into spring and I waited. I ran and won in races, and I waited.

   And while I waited, I practiced. 

   At track workouts, I imagined that he was running beside me and that I had to beat him. 

   At races, I made fast starts and pretended that he was ahead and that I needed to catch up with him.

   I wasn't worried about losing to Steele anymore; if I could beat Galilean, who was so much faster than Steele, then of course I would beat _him_ too.

   And since I assumed that Galilean was faster than Runaway, My Sweet Lucy(a mare who was also really fast), Bright Renaissance (a stallion from our very own beloved Oakwood Acres) and Conquistador (from a very wealthy Mexican owner), I concluded that all I really needed to do was to beat Galilean, and I would also beat the rest. Those were all the winner-hopefuls. Plus one or two unknowns, maybe, and that was the field. _If_ I could beat Galilean.

   _If_.

   _If_  was the big problem. _If _my theory worked. _If_ I could do it. _If_ none of the other horses were ahead (but with Galilean's fast start…and the other horses were sure to stay in a pack at first, not wanting to burn up too much speed…by the time they made their moves, it might be too late to catch up…)

   And Steele, of course.

   Steele's techniques were the same as mine; so were Bright Renaissance's; we were from the same stable, trained by the same trainer, though Renaissance was older by three years; yeah, he was six years old, even older than Runaway.

   My Sweet Lucy was very small and very stubborn and also very very fast. Her strides were very short; her legs were very short; but they were very rapid. I'd been told that she moved so fast that even at a breeze, her legs were a blur, though that was to be expected; she had to take at least two strides while we bigger horses took one stride, to keep pace with us.

   Conquistador, from the wealthy Mexican owner, was more suited to endurance races. He wasn't a real sprinter, but he probably had more stamina than all of us put together. We'd been run in the same races twice. I'd won in both, but he'd stayed right by my side to the end, and it was a neck-to-neck fight to the finish line. His strategy was a mutated version of ours; we would wait till the lead horses began to tire, then make our moves; he would also wait, but make his moves later, in the hopes of overtaking them when they dropped back. He would really be a problem in long distance races, like the Belmont with it's 1 ½ mile run, sticking to our sides like an annoying bug that wouldn't go away.    

   He also has a Hispanian accent. 

   No kidding. No, seriously, I'm not joking. The way he moves; the way he paws the ground, nickers, tosses his head, snorts, even the way he runs; everything he does has a Spanish flair to it.

   I'd tried to speak Mexican to him and mimic him once; I'd whinnied and grinned at him, hoping he would respond.

   He just stared.

   I gave up.

   I waited. February, March, April…

   And on the last week of April, Sir Peppero came back from the racetrack exhausted(he'd ponied one of the younger, particularly feisty two-year-olds) but with news: Galilean was being shipped back tomorrow.

   I heaved a sigh. 

   Oh well…at least, since I'd just finished a race, it wasn't likely we would meet before the Triple Crown itself. 

   Three more weeks to go. I began the countdown. At the home oval, workouts were increasingly tension-filled, with Sims barking orders everywhere(not that he didn't usually), Chaya growing more and more nervous every time she rode, afraid of being yelled at yet again, and us horses being let out to run our fastest times on a home oval yet.

   As I said, Steele, Bright Renaissance, and I were being entered in the Triple Crown. We had to be the first at the oval every morning, because Sims wanted to watch us gallop _one by one_, before all the other horses, which meant being pried awake and dragged out of my stall yawning and protesting by Chaya before the sun was even up.

   At least that meant that he wasn't likely to vent his anger on us.

   Our feeds were being supplemented with extra vitamins now, and the vet (which I've learned is the someone-in-white who pricks us) came every few days to check that we were in top condition. 

   The blacksmith(formerly called the 'Iron Man' before we were 'educated') came too, and replaced our shoes.

   We weren't staying out in the paddocks anymore, in case anything happened to us. The stable was nearly full every night.

   Two more weeks…

   Chaya, who had won her 35th race weeks ago and gotten her jockey's license, started jogging me even longer distances in afternoon trailrides. We went up hills, down hills, around and around the back meadow and woods, and over the hills again, all at a trot or a canter.

   This was where I got frustrated and Chaya got headaches. Every time we were out, I tried to bolt, knowing that if I didn't, I would spend the whole afternoon trotting, cantering, trotting, cantering, ….boring stuff… boring enough to make you fall asleep…

   Then, she began ponying me on Sir Peppero, and I didn't dare do it anymore. 

   The final week…

   Two days after that, we were loaded on a van and sent to the race track. 

   And I still hadn't been able to think of a back-up plan.

   We spent the rest of that final week at the racetrack, where we were clocked every morning at the track with loads of humans and horses looking on. The humans stayed outside our stalls day.  And night.

   The barn we were in was full to the nearly overflowing. All the other Triple Crown Hopefuls except for Galilean were there. Then, you have the regular boarders, and the horses for the other races… 

   And if I say that the noise is sometimes deafening, I'm not exaggerating.

   Three days…

   Galilean arrived. The stable was in an uproar, especially when he got scared by the people at the track oval and reared straight up. His rider didn't fall off.

   Then, to my horror and outrage, instead of Chaya riding me today, Sims tossed his stopwatch to Ken and jumped up on my back, I don't know why. I pulled, bucked, tried to roll, snorted, planted my feet and refused to move. No good. His hands were like iron, drawing up the reins so tight the corners of my mouth hurt again. I finally stopped when he kicked me in the ribs. Hard. And muttered under his breath, "Disobedient little devil." 

   Coming out of the track, I tried one last time: I reared. And Sims fell off. He never rode me again.

   Two days…

   At least seven different horses tried to bolt during morning workouts. I counted them while standing in line, waiting. 

   Strange. I wasn't feeling any of my usual pre-race nerves.

   One day left…   

   I wasn't worked that morning. Good thing. I could spend the whole day snoozing away.

   Which was the reason I was still wide awake by nightfall. While the heads of other horses drooped ands eyelids closed, mine was still wide open, my ears perked up.

   The barn was emptying, grooms and jockeys and trainers scurrying for the door, blankets or tack slung over their shoulders. Pretty soon, no one was left. I stuck my head out of my stall door as far as it would go and looked to the right. Head after head hung over the half doors or else almost touched their owners' chests. A few were unseen; the occupants must have been lying down on the straw. Eyes were either shut or half-closed.

   "So you were hired by Carter last year…"

   We weren't alone after all…

   Sims' voice was coming up from the other stalls, and he was talking to another trainer. They were discussing something. And coming steadily closer.

   The humans passed by the other Oakwood horses' stalls, and I could hear the humans discussing them one by one.

   "Ah yes…uh huh…son of Ironfisted and Molten Fire…Steele, yes…"

   "Massive he is…"

   "Yep. Damaged his foot just over four months ago…"

   Sims' conversations are sometimes interesting and sometimes not. This one was…strange. Sims almost never showed us to anyone, trainers or jockeys or grooms, unless they were prospective buyers. He also never discussed us the way he was doing it now…parents, pedigree, name…and he never, _never_ _ever_ asked anyone's opinion. Even back at the farm, it was he who would make suggestions to our owner. It was like he was trying to …impress…this human…who, I very much doubted, was interested to buy us.

   I mean, yeah sure, you could look at us if you passed by in the stable…ask how we were doing…and that was all. He wouldn't have allowed you to go inside and look us over one by one…

   "This one. What do you think of her?"

   Their voices were muffled. They must be going inside the stalls one by one and looking over the occupants.

   "She's a beauty… unusual color though…but still very beautiful…and quite fast too… I think my boss would want to breed her to one of his stallions when she's retired…what was her name again?"

   "Moon Dancer."

   "Ah, the one with Native Dancer's bloodlines?"

   "Yes yes…"

   They passed over the next few horses.

   " Bright Renaissance…you've already seen him…Sheer Willpower…not ours…Willow Queen…not ours either…Ahh…"

   They had come to my stall.

   "Was this the one you wanted to show me?"

   "Yes. Come inside, he's quite gentle." 

   Quite gentle! I narrowed my eyes and swung a hoof. It hit the stall door with a thud.

   The humans paused outside, the stranger with his hand on the stall door. "Not quite so gentle now, is he?"

   They were still coming inside. I drew back in my stall, hugging the walls and eyeing them with mistrust.

   "Dun…deep, burnt, golden dun…this one's different…where did you get him?" That was the stranger.

   " I first saw him at an auction. His previous owner was a middleman. He trained horses in the west and shipped them back here to sell. Didn't want this little devil here…" Sims. "Cost him a little fortune…said that he was so ferocious he injured a trainer permanently in a training session…but he was fast…too fast, in fact…nearly got away a number of times…and that was a good stable…trained fine horses…hunters…a few jumpers…good facilities…"

   Good stable. I snorted. Dirty stalls, an abusive trainer…you call that a good stable? And he didn't first see me at the auction; he was one of the humans who had caught me.

   "He's not so little."

   "He's only three years old."

   "Where did the middleman get him?"

   "I don't know. He's a middleman, wasn't he?"

   "Are you sure he's a pureblood Thoroughbred? His feet are pretty big…and you know mustangs have big feet…and they live out west…"

   "Are you saying that a mustang has been winning all these races here, beating the fastest Thoroughbreds in the country? And are you saying that a part-blood horse has been registered in the Jockey Club? You know that isn't allowed, and the horse can't race if he's not registered." Sims was indignant. 

   Oh, goody. Keep it up that way, Old Sims-y, and maybe you'll get a heart attack. Then we'd all be better off…

   "Not really…but are his sire and dam purebloods?"

   "Of course they are…middleman gave me the papers himself…Free Wind, by Westbound out of Bella…"

   Liar. 

   He well knew that my father didn't have any papers, wasn't a pureblooded Thoroughbred, and certainly wasn't called 'Westbound'.

   Trust Sims to think up a great big story.

   If it had been me who did it, at least the story would have been _believable_…

   "Bella? The one who ran away all those years ago! But if she ran away, how could she have–" 

   "Look at the time! And with a big race tomorrow. I've gotta run." Sims interrupted. He waved and disappeared back down the stable, leaving the other trainer still standing in my stall with his mouth open.    

   Of course Sims avoided answering that question. If he'd tried, it would have gone awkward…

   The trainer started pacing He turned from ignorant and clueless to thoughtful as he began going around me, lifting each hoof in turn, making me walk a few steps right, left, and right again, all the while talking to himself.

   "The fool…nice of him to show you to me, though…" He lifted my lip to check my registration number. "Yes yes…though I suppose all he wanted to do was to impress me…doubt he would have shown any other trainer his horses….and all I had to say was that Carter hired me…" He made me open my mouth to check my teeth. " Carter hired me…_me_…" He snorted.

   I recognized Carter's name. He was rich, had a huge stable (even bigger than ours),and was, in fact, Galilean's owner.    

   The human was still talking to himself. " Tonight would be a good time to do it…but no…better wait until after the Triple Crown…drives your price up higher, you see…" He slapped my neck and let himself out the stall.

   "Of course, I'd be sure to dope Galilean; he's your only real rival…I've seen you run and you can beat them all except for him…paves the way for you…he loses…leaves you to win…and the higher the price they will pay to get you back …" The latch clicked into place. The human turned and spoke directly to me.

   "You've had a good life up to now…but that's going to change soon…very soon…" One last scratch and he was striding up the aisle out of sight.

   Leaving me wondering what he meant.

   The stable door slammed shut.

   I was alone once more.

   The only sensible conclusion that I could come up with that I was going to be sold…soon.

   But even that didn't make sense: if Oakwood Acres needed money, and if I was winning big, why would they want to sell me? Wouldn't my winnings be a lot, lot more than whatever anyone else paid for me? And after I retired, wouldn't I be put to stud? Owners would want their mares bred to me…and that would cause money…but what if Oakwood Acres needed the money _now_?

   I was still wondering about it when I drifted off.


	13. Dday

Disclaimer: Umm…what else do you say in a disclaimer, aside from the things you're supposed to say? For example: "The Black isn't mine." Or "I don't own the Black." Or " The Black Stallion belongs to Walter and Steven Farley, not to me.", which all pretty much mean the same thing anyway… … or…never mind…you get the idea…

A/N: This chapter's short…well, compared to other chapters, really, really, really short. Don't think of it as a short chapter if you don't want to; just pretend it's a really long chapter 11 cut in half, ok?

Chapter 12

   I pranced in place, trying to pull away from Dick as he put on the last of the bandages that would protect my legs and fetlocks. Chaya was in the jockey room, getting dressed and weighed. Terri had already tacked me up. Dick straightened, clipped on a lead shank, and headed for the paddock gate. A human waiting there lifted my upper lip, then handed Dick something to clip on my bridle. I swiveled my head upward and tried to see what it was. No luck. Dick yanked on the line downwards and led me to the paddock.

   We would wait there until saddling time. I rubbed a knee against the wood and looked around. This was a usual pre-race ritual; I'd been in lots of paddocks before, waiting to be saddled. This was the same, and yet at the same time, different. 

   Bright Renaissance and Runaway were already there. Both of them ignored me. The gate opened. Galilean, Steele and My Sweet Lucy filed in.

   Was it my imagination, or was Galilean looking a bit woozy today?

   On second thought, he _was_ woozy. I watched him closely. His eyes were wandering everywhere, and they had a cloudy, dreamy look, as if he didn't have a care in the world. Galilean was relaxed…quiet…docile, almost sluggish, while the rest of us were bursting with nerves. Did the humans notice that something was wrong?

   Two more horses, strangers, were brought into the paddock.

   That made it a field of 8.

   Where was Conquistador?

   He didn't turn up when we were led into our saddling stalls.

   Great. The weather was already hot, and now they had to add a thick, heavy blanket with that saddle on top.

   Ok ok, I was exaggerating; the blanket wasn't thick and heavy, but it really felt that way, and when Chaya, who had appeared wearing Oakwood Acres' green and gold silks right after a human had yelled "Riders up!", swung onto my back, it felt even heavier.

   I was sorely tempted to buck everything off, but that really wouldn't work.

   Sims appeared. "Let's go." He clipped another line on Steele's bridle and led him ahead of us to the post parade. Steele shot me a venomous _You dare_ look, and followed Sims.

   "Good luck," Dick told Chaya. He unclipped his line and let a rider and her pony take over.

   I glanced sidewards at the track pony. The gelding wasn't really that small; in fact, he wasn't even a pony. He looked more like a chestnut Thoroughbred version of Sir Peppero, who, by the way, was ponying Steele.

   "Hot weather here," he commented as his rider swung his line, urging me into a trot. The gelding began trotting too.

   My mouth felt dry. I swallowed and asked, "Any tips?"

   " You want to watch that one back there," he shot a look back at Galilean. "I've ponied him other times and he's usually really frisky; don't know what happened to him today. But you watch him all the same. Experienced biter, that one. Gave me this when I refused to let him bolt. Really big teeth." The gelding turned his head sideways and showed me a small scar on his neck.

   If Galilean was racing in Florida the past few months, how did this gelding get to pony him 'other times?"

   "Now you look like a nice young'n. Don't let'im beat ya. Good luck," he added as his rider released me. "Now I'll be expecting ya to get them rosies." He yelled over his shoulder as he trotted away.

   Get the–what? What were 'rosies'? 

   I pushed everything from my mind as we loaded fourth from the rail. 

   My stomach flipped. Chaya's hand stroked my neck. I looked ahead out at the track, miles and miles of dark dirt waiting to be trodden upon, and, leagues away, the finish line. 

   The gates opened. 

   I shot out and went for the lead. Chaya held me back, and I settled for the third place, with Runaway out second, and Galilean, as always, running in the lead.

   The sun was beating down on the track. I squinted against the glaring heat and rolled back an eye. 

   What was Steele doing this early here? He was just by my flank.

   Ahh, he'd decided to tail me instead, and I bet he would accelerate when we did.

   A small bay blur blew ahead, with a chestnut streak following her. They settled into the lead, three horses running across the track.

   So My Sweet Lucy and a stranger had decided not to let Galilean get away.

   The good news was that the fast pace, this early, might burn out Galilean and co. . The bad news was that, with the three of them strung out across the track, and with Runaway behind them, it would be impossible for me to get through.

   Well actually, there was a way. I would have to run on the outside of the pack, but that would mean the longest distance to run, and I just wasn't going to do it.

   No matter. Sooner or later, one of them would get tired and drop back.

   But it better be sooner. There were still 3 other horses behind me, and I was keen to leave them all behind.

   There was no use tugging at the bit. The lead horses set the pace, and if I went faster, I'd bowl them over.

   Then, I felt a gentle tug. The tug came again. I accelerated to run beside Runaway, and angled over next to the rail, with the gray gelding on my outside.    

   Chaya's left rein tightened. We were already going around the first turn!

   This was bad. With 4 horses to overtake and 3 more to outrun, I had to get moving _now_!

   I tugged at the bit. There wasn't anything we could do; we would have to go around the whole lot.

   Let me tell you: I AM NOT HAPPY.

   Then, I caught a flash of movement. Was My Sweet Lucy tiring already?

   No, she was still running, strong as ever.

   But wild horses don't trust their instincts for nothing. I was sure I had seen something.

   Sooner or later, something had to happen. Either one of the horses would burn out and give ground, in which case there would be space for us, or they would accelerate.

   But this early…that was impossible! Surely if her owners wanted her to win, they would have to had trained her for longer distances…

   But then, I saw it wasn't a question of the distance; it was the speed. She was taking almost two strides to our every step, which meant she would burn twice as much energy, which meant she would tire twice faster…

   There it was again. She really was tiring! I stopped pulling for rein and settled back, now keeping my eyes on the small bay shape running in front of me. 

   The question was when to do it…

   If I did it too early, and she hadn't dropped back, I would be stuck, unable to get back to my previous place, because another horse would have gone through. If I did it too late, one of the other horses would have closed in and taken her spot.

   I waited. 

   For a few strides, she was fine. Then, I saw her beginning to drop back. The pace was taking its toll. The mare surged forward, then dropped back again. The space between her and the stranger was widening.  

   Just a few more inches…just a few more…

   Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Runaway. 

   His eyes were also fixed on the slot.

   He was going to take it!

   But to do so, he would have to angle over across my way, while all I had to do was go straight ahead.

   Chaya's left rein tightened again. The second bend!

   Oh man…

   The stranger on Galilean's right swung wide. Instinctively, Galilean, in the middle, followed. With more space, My Sweet Lucy also edged right.

   Something flashed by: a hand reaching, inching downwards. Runaway's jockey! He knew he had to go ahead and take the slot, but he was waiting for his jockey to give the go ahead. And his jockey was already reaching for his whip. That meant that as soon as they burst clear, they would win going away.

   I'd forgotten that Chaya also had eyes. In the split second the Runaway's jockey was still pulling out his whip, she dropped low over my back and yelled "Go!". The reins loosened immediately.

   I didn't need any more urging. I fixed my eyes on the strip of brown track I could see in between My Sweet Lucy and the rail, and lengthened my strides.

   Were we going to get through? Was there enough space? I closed my eyes tightly.

   Up behind me, Chaya began kneading my neck. That meant…

   Yeah! YI-HAHH! 

   We were through!

   I opened my eyes. The reins lengthened even more. I surged ahead a few strides and rolled back an eye in amazement.

   Galilean wasn't going to challenge me! He was still running, a faraway I-don't-care-hey-I'm-getting-tired-of-this look on his face, with the chestnut stranger and Runaway, who had gone forward and taken Lucy's spot now that she'd dropped back.

   Chaya dropped even lower on my back. I lowered my head, and began to really run.

   _Now_ I was happy.

   We flew down the track. I imagined that I was back home, in the wild, and that I was racing with the colts and fillies of our herd. I imagined the wind going through my mane and tail, running, running through the grass. I remembered my very, very first win, of flying down the meadow, of outstripping the others one by one, of finally racing past Raha and seeing the shocked look on his face.

   A dark blur on my right! No, two dark blurs. One black, and one brown. Steele and Galilean! Steele was still going strong. Galilean was already plainly tiring, and only being spurred on by his jockey's whip. He wouldn't last long.

   No matter. I went even faster. The wind was whipping by, almost whistling in my ears. Everything–the rail, the track, the grandstand with the cheering humans–everything thinned into a line of blurred color and noise.

   Steele was gaining. I looked ahead. The wire was only a few more lengths…he wouldn't have enough time…

    All too soon, Chaya was pulling me up. I slowed and stopped gratefully, taking in huge gulps of air.

   Suddenly, I could hear the crowd again. They were yelling, cheering, making a lot of noise…

   My head ears hurt. I wished for silence.

    Steele and Terri pulled in a few seconds behind us. I stood panting, the sweat running down my back and neck and legs, soaking the bandages I was wearing.

   We had won! We had won the Kentucky Derby…

   I shook my head. Was this a dream? But no…it wasn't…because Chaya was patting my neck, saying over and over again in a dazed voice, "We've won…we've won…we've won…"

   A human came over, holding something – a blanket? which he draped over my shoulders. I turned my head curiously. Red flowers with a distinctive sweet smell…Roses! Roses, roses, and more roses, hundreds of them, thousands of them woven tightly in a huge blanket that was over my back. 

   That was what the track pony had been talking about! _Rosies_…roses.

   The track rider and his chestnut gelding suddenly appeared over my shoulder. The gelding was grinning, and so was his rider as a lead shank was clipped on me and they led us to a small circle surrounded by rail.

   The winner's circle…

   As we passed them, I muttered under my breath, "Thanks."

   The gelding whispered back, "My pleasure." Still grinning broadly, he stepped away.

   Sims had a line on my bridle. He handed Chaya a huge gleaming… something–sorry, I didn't know what it was–and punched his fist in the air. Chaya raised the gleaming something up high over her head. Dick was beside us, yelling "You did it! You did it!" and jumping up and down. My owner was standing beside us. He had an arm around Sims and an arm around my neck.

   Throngs of humans closed in around us. And I am absolutely not exaggerating when I say the noise is deafening. There were clicks and blinding flashes of light everywhere we turned.

   I didn't know how long everything lasted, how long until the crowd went away, how long we were in that circle. It might have been minutes; it might have been days.

   All I knew was that somehow, the humans thinned and we were finally able to go back to the stable. Chaya disappeared and Dick and Terri took turns walking me and rubbing me down. I was given a hosing off–nice long bath in cool water – and finally brought back to the stable, where a warm bran mash was waiting.

   In my stall, I gulped down the mash and alternately dozed and awoke, tired. Humans kept coming to look at me and the rest of the Oakwood Acres horses. I remember jolting awake once to hear someone yelling, "I'll give you five hundred thousand for him and three hundred thousand for the silver filly!" and falling asleep again. 

   I dreamed. In my dream, I met the black stallion again. It was just a brief dream, very short. All I remember of it was that his eyes were shining and telling me, _You did it!_

   Finally, night. I awoke, wonderfully rested, refreshed, my energy recharged. And suddenly very hungry. I cleaned my feed box and poked my head out my stall door. Everything was quiet, horses sleeping, with an occasional snort or whicker.

   It was strange, waking up when everybody else was sleeping.

   I closed my eyes and imagined the sky outside, a deep, deep blue dotted with stars. I wondered if, miles away, Mother was looking at the same sky with the rest of the herd. I imagined escaping and going home and telling her all about this, telling her that I hadn't been wasting my time in captivity, that I'd been doing what she had done all those years ago: winning, and proving that you don't have to be pureblooded to do something wonderful.


	14. The Preakness

Disclaimer:  Longtime readers…you guys must have read this (or varied versions of this that all say the same basic thing anyway) a hundred thousand times already(maybe even a few million times…)…new readers…don't worry, you'll get tired of it soon…here's the hundred-and-one thousandth time (or the million-and-first time) _…I don't own the Black_ …Actually, there are many other different versions…please feel free to pick whichever you like… J

A/N: Chapter 13…the unlucky chapter…(I really hope not) …

Ok, I'll shut up and get on with the story now…

Chapter 13 

   The next day after the Derby, we were brought home. 3 days rest, and we were back to training.

   Traditionally, there is a two-weeks gap between the 3 races. I had 11 days, give or take, left before the Preakness. 11 days to think up something. I'd been lucky the last time. Steele had started the sprint too late; he wouldn't do it this time. And I'd heard that Conquistador was finally running in this race. Galilean…I don't know what happened to him, but I was sure that after this loss, he would come back alert and ready to take us on. And I wasn't about to depend on something that had happened last time and might not happen this time.

   My Sweet Lucy was out of it. Sir Peppero, (the ever-eager informer) had said that after the Derby, her trainer had declared her too burned out. She wouldn't recover in time for the Belmont, much less the Preakness. And even if she did recover, she would probably be retired and put to stud.

   Then, it started to rain. Just a bit, a few drops here, a few drops there, a slight drizzle everyday. Just a slight drizzle. It had been hot and too warm; I even forgot when it was the last time it rained. 

   And the humans had said that it was likely to continue raining like that for the next week. 

   I didn't mind drizzles when running. As long as the track was not too wet, that was all right. 

   I wasn't a mudder, a horse who loves, or at least likes running on a muddy track. Back at home, whether it rained or not didn't really make a difference in our running, aside from the grass being a little extra slippery, because the ground and the grass soaked it all up, and we'd never had any reason to go running in the canyons' dirt floor in thunderstorms.

   Here, I'd never actually run when raining, but I'd been at a race where the ground was wet. And I can tell you, it's not easy. You have to work harder to go faster, and…no traction. It was like you almost had to scrabble to keep running, and it's messy. Real messy. When we'd come out of the race and Chaya dismounted, I wouldn't even have recognized her if I hadn't known she was there. She was coated head to foot with mud. 

   Great. Just great. Just when I was beginning to have some hope. Now it was squashed flatter than a mosquito when stepped on by an elephant. 

   At least Galilean didn't like the mud either. That was to my advantage.

   As the week went on, the rain intensified. But as long as it didn't rain on Preakness day…as long as…

   Great. Just great. 

   Today is Preakness day. As usual, we'd been vanned here several days before. 

   And today is also Rainy day. 

   It was pouring outside. It wasn't a thunderstorm, but…well, compared to he slight drizzles of last week, it _is_ pouring.

   At least, when Galilean's owner, Carter, saw the weather, he pulled _him_ out.

   That was the good news.

   The bad news was much worse.

   Steele was a known mudder.

   I'd seen him run when the ground was wet; so wet that at places, the water sloshed up higher than our hocks. I'd seen him running, stretching out smoothly, his legs snapping backward and forward, running with ease, and while the rest of us had come out panting, he'd come out grinning.  

   I sighed and began hoping feverishly that at least the rain would stop before the race. At least we could run without having the rain pelting our backs and necks, and sometimes even our eyes, if that was the direction the wind was blowing.

   The stable roof was still dripping when I was led out, even though the rain was now a drizzle again. It was like that today, pouring, drizzle, pouring, drizzle, each lasting only a few minutes or seconds; sometimes, it even stopped raining. But two minutes later…wow…

   I drifted through the saddling and checking of everything worrying, worrying. Chaya mounted and we headed out.

   For starters, the sky was already a dull gray. But the color of the sky had absolutely nothing o do with conditions of the track right now. Maybe later…

   The wind wasn't strong. That was good. 

   Then, I saw the track. That was bad.

   Worse, Chaya was strangely nervous today. Of course, she was nervous before every single race, but that was race-nervous. This was scared-nervous. Plus race-nervous.

   And worst, her scared-nervousness was trickling down her hands, flowing down her arms, and pouring into me. I became more and more uneasy by the second. What was wrong?

   We lined up. She was still…unfocused, which was really unlike her.

   If she was not concentrating, I would have to focus for both of us. 

   The last horse was in.

   I was out the moment the gates shot open. In this slop, we would have to get away early.

   The good thing was, I was in the lead.

   The bad thing was, Chaya wasn't cooperating.

   Fine.

   She wanted to follow the dry-track method, fine.

   I took matters into my own hands.

   The track was even worse than I imagined. Within a few lengths, my black socks were soaked, and I had water trickling down my legs.

   The sky was now darker.

   I rolled back an eye. The others were in a pack, with Steele running at the head.

   It started to rain _again_ before we were even to the first turn. Oh man…

   Right now, we were in a precarious situation, where one single little thing could tip the scale and lose us the race. And those tiny raindrops were large enough to do it.

   I grabbed the bit, tucked my head, and increased my strides.

   Faster, faster…

   I lengthened each stride.

   _Faster, faster_…  

   I was going faster. So was the rain. My water-logged mane clung to my neck, and no matter how many times I flung up my head, it wouldn't come off. 

   Better to get the race over with before the rain got stronger.

   I poured on speed. Reach forward, mud under your hooves, water in your face; push with your back legs, your hoof sinks, (and makes a nice loud squelch when you yank it out); mud and water flying behind you, the slop under your hooves slippery, no traction, forward, forward, faster, faster, _run_, _run_, _run_…

   I glanced back. Steele was gaining. His head was almost to my flank. 

   Sometimes, it felt as though we were not running, not moving at all, as if I was running on a treadmill, where no matter how fast you run, no matter how quick you try to get away, it makes no difference…no, not one single bit… 

   Then, I felt a tug. I ignored it. Another tug.

   All right, all right…

   Chaya was steering me out to the middle of the track. Was she crazy? We'd lose ground…

   On second thought, she was right. The ground on the middle was drier than by the rail, because all the water had drained off into the spot where I had been running before.

   Now, this was easier. I put my head down and ran, Chaya giving me all the rein I wanted. This really _is_ easier. Drier ground, now something like the track I had ran at long ago, the only time I'd run a race on wet ground. I'd won then…and if I'd won then, I could win it now.

   FASTER, FASTER …

   Here, there wasn't so much water. But the mud was thicker. That was good. More solid ground. 

   Is there a shade of gray in which it is at its' darkest without being black? Imagine the sky that color… 

   I glanced back again. Yes! Steele was several lengths behind us, and apparently very furious.

   _Yes_!**__**

   I dug in with my hooves. The rain hadn't changed, but the size of the droplets and the direction of the wind had. The raindrops, previously like…well, one raindrop…were now the size of three raindrops. The wind was blowing them in silvery horizontal sheets. And I wasn't wearing blinkers.

   We took the water head on. I narrowed my eyes to slits and tried to go even faster.  I was leaning so far forward now that every time my hooves hit a puddle, water was almost flying up my nostrils.

   I glanced back every few seconds. A chestnut horse was now running beside Steele, who looked even farther away.

   _YES_!

   Too late I felt the tug of the reins and saw the giant puddle lying ahead. Water almost to my fetlock…

   Should I swerve? But the puddle was in the middle! 

   Yes…no other way…

   I gritted my teeth. One stride later, my hoof sank into the puddle. Water washed over my socks.

   But I was leaning too far forward. Two back hooves and my left foreleg were in the air, and I felt that single hoof in the muddy puddle give way.

   The ground slid out from under that hoof and I stumbled. Now my entire right leg from knee to hoof was in the puddle. A back hoof sliced into the back of my knee. I felt pain shooting up my leg.

   In a minute, I was up and running again. But that stumble had cost us the lead: Steele had drawn up beside us.

   They would win. Steele a mudder, me with the cut…

   They would surely win. But if I was going to lose, it wouldn't be for lack of trying. 

   I bowed my head, fighting with Steele, running, just running, not caring anymore…

   We ran, side by side, neck to neck, and it took me a long time to realize that he was just as tired as I was. We were panting, our chests heaving, tongues rolling, sweat mingling with the rain to trickle off our backs and faces and manes and tails.

   The other horses had caught up with us now. I could feel someone breathing down my back.

   We shouldn't have gone that fast so soon…we shouldn't have taken the lead so early…we shouldn't have run on that specially wet place…I should have seen that puddle and avoided it…

   Shouldn't have, shouldn't have, shouldn't have. There were a lot of shouldn't haves. 

   But right now, I didn't care anymore. Just running, running, keep on running, just to finish the race…never mind winning…just finish and I could get back to my stall…have a nice long sleep…so tired…so tired…

   Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw a black head gain. On my right side, another head, this one brown, streaked even darker with mud. Steele and Conquistador! Not much; just half a neck. But that would make us lose.

   A picture of Steele's jeering face came into my mind. No, I wouldn't be laughed at again. I wouldn't lose. 

   I felt a spark of anger. It was only a spark, but that spark was enough.

   I fixed in my mind the picture of my stall with a warm bran mash waiting and made one last effort to get away from it all.

   Did we even finish the race?

   I don't know.

   When did we pull up? 

   Don't ask me.

   Who won? 

   Don't know, don't care.

   Right now, all I wanted was a nice, thick bed of straw and sleep. Never mind the mash…

   I don't remember much of what happened after that. Some flashes maybe, but not all of it.

   One memory was of pulling up, Chaya finally throwing herself off my back.

   The second memory: Someone running past, yelling to someone else on the grandstand "Head-bob finish! But the golden one won!"

     "What golden one?" I'd wondered stupidly. My mind felt full of fog. There were two chestnuts here, and he could have meant any of us three. But we were so covered with mud I doubted he would have recognized who was who.

   The third memory: Someone lifting up my right foreleg, and applying something to it. There was a stinging sensation .

   Fourth memory: Being hosed down, the encrusted mud finally being washed off me.

   Fifth memory: Finally being led into my stall. And then…darkness…and sleep.

   "Worn out. Yes, definitely worn out."

   "But he's had his rest."

   I opened my eyes. Someone–two someones–were standing outside my stall door. I was stretched out on the floor. 

   "He's tired. The fast early pace…the slop…the rain…"

   "What did the vet say about–?"

   "The cut? Oh, said it was just a little one, really just a scrape, but a long scrape. Three inches, at least. But not deep. Really more like a scratch. He's really lucky. I've seen others with wounds as deep as his is long, if that's possible. Big bloody mess, I can tell you."

   But who?

   "He will run, then–?"

   "We-ell…that really depends on his performance. I'll see if he gets back on his feet before I'd consider pulling him out…"

   Ahh, Sims and his trainer friend, the one he had shown us to the night before the Derby.

   "Two weeks–do you think he'll make it?"

   "He's awake. Hey, boy." They opened the door and came to squat beside me, one on each side. Instinctively, I stiffened." And the vet said there would be no scars; would heal real quick, as long as everything goes fine. He'll be running at the track again in days." Sims reached for my right foreleg, which, I realized, was bound with white bandage around the knee. "And anyway, this one has a reputation of bouncing back real quick. A tough one, this one…"

   Too bad Sims was the one behind me. Maybe if I kicked his friend…

   His fingers touched and probed the leg. I pulled it from his hands and scrambled up. 

   They stood up too. "Well, looks like he's gonna make it." Sims' friend scratched my ears. He was gentle. I relaxed.

   Sims went out. His friend paused. "Well done…you're more than halfway across already…just one more time boy…just one more win…and you're mine." One last scratch and he too, was gone.      

   One more win…then that meant I'd won the Preakness.

   No way; I saw Steele, he was head-to head with me. But looking back, the human had said "a head-bob" finish.

   Whatever that was. I'd ask Sir Peppero later.

   It wasn't until later, very later, that the phrase "…_and you're mine_." drifted across my mind. But I pushed away the uneasy thoughts and settled onto the straw to do the one thing I'd wanted to do once again: sleep.


	15. Racing with the wind

Disclaimer: I don't own the Black…:0 …:

Chapter 14 

   "Wake up. Wind, wake up!" 

   Someone poked me in the side. I let out a throaty whicker and ignored him or her.

   "Wind, wake up!" 

    _Splash_!

   Now I did wake up. In fact, I jolted awake. Cold water had been poured on my face, and now, little rivulets were trickling down my cheeks, dripping off my nose. 

   _Uh_ _hhuhh_…I nodded sleepily and submitted to a very thorough grooming before being pulled outside to be tacked and ridden.

   It wasn't because I was tired; almost a week( 5 days, actually) of rest after the Preakness had me back in shape, with the tiredness gone and the pain of the scrape a distant memory. No, it wasn't because I was tired. 

   It was because of the dream. I'd began having it…I don't know…just sometime along the last week, or maybe…this week…or maybe…umm…just recently.

   It was good dream. 

   I was still trying to remember what had happened in it when we came in from the workout.

   I'd been running. To where, I don't know, from where, don't ask me, _why_ I was running, I absolutely have no idea.

    But it was somewhere back home, because there had been miles and miles of grass. That was the first thing I was sure of.

    And then, the black stallion had appeared again. We'd been running together. That was the second thing.   

   And that was also the last.

   I was running. Running who knows where. There was fog all around me; so thick I could practically feel the moisture on my skin. I couldn't see anything. 

   And yet, I could see me running. That was weird.

   I knew I was running, and yet it was like I was floating above, just watching me running, and at the same time, I could feel the earth under my hooves feel the cold…

   Hard to run all I want. Hard to go faster. It was like moving through water, running through mud; you run, but you move sluggishly. Something was holding me back. I flung up my head, trying to get it off.

   No good. I became angry. I tucked my head and tried to go even faster.

   That something holding me back fought me.  

   The fog lifted. I could see! There was sunshine all around. I was running on green grass. But this was not the grass in my paddock. This was not the grass in any human field. 

   Something was different. The wind came. It blew across my face and I breathed it in.

   That smell. That wonderful smell. 

   Where was I?

   The wonderful smell came again. It was very familiar. The sweet smell of the wind…

   I was home! But not back in my meadow, with Mother and Northlight and the others.

   This was in the wild, open range. 

   But this was unfamiliar country. I'd never seen these rolling hills before, nor the trees, the land…

   This was different. Even the mountains were different. But somehow, I knew it; felt it in my bones; I knew this place…

   Only…

  There was someone. Someone coming to meet me. Someone very familiar, someone very big, someone very bl–

   BANG!

   I jerked awake. "Wha–?"

   BANG!

   "Hey, wake up!" 

   I shook my forelock away from my eyes, trying to clear my mind. I was in a stall. What stall? I'd been running–

   Oh. Oh yeah. Oh right. The stall on the Metal Bird.

   The drone of the engines filled my ears again, the soft whirring, the metal clankings... 

   "Wind? You ok?"

   It was Sir Peppero. He was in the stall next to mine. And he'd woken me by kicking my stall wall.

   Even though I couldn't see him even if I put out my neck, his voice sounded concerned. Worried, even.

   "You were thrashing back there. I–I thought you were having a seizure. So I woke you up."

   I was thrashing? 

   "You don't have to worry. It was nothing." I kept my voice low. Steele was in the stall on the other side of Sir Peppero's. If he listened carefully, he would be able to hear what we were saying.  

   And I didn't want that. 

   I didn't want Steele to think I was weak.

   And I didn't want him to know that I was afraid.

   Afraid of what? Of losing? I certainly wasn't afraid to lose. It's a part of life; if you win, you sometimes have to lose. And if I was ever afraid before a race, it wasn't because of my rivals or because of losing; it was being afraid at the thought of what might happen if I lost.

    But I wasn't afraid of the dream either. In fact, I looked forward to nights, to when I would be sleeping, dreaming. The dream had reminded me of home. And I was desperate to cling to what memories I had left of the meadow. I was very, very young when they took me from the wild, and I'd spent most of my life in captivity. The wild was all but a distant memory now, something I thought about when I had spare time.

   Now, I couldn't even remember what my mother looked like. I would remember that she was black, and that she had a white star, but that was all. Try as I did, I couldn't remember her face.

   I was afraid of what the dream meant. Was it a premonition? Was it a shadow of what would happen in the future? Did seeing the wild mean that I would go back home? But then, Moon hadn't been with me in the dream. Did it mean that I would escape while she would be left behind?

   And what about the black stallion? The big, black, Arabian stallion?

   We'd been running. Running for our lives? 

   Maybe. 

   Or maybe not.

   I don't know.

   But as we were led down from the Metal Bird that had swallowed us up and was now disgorging us, (Thanks for the ride; it was quite enjoyable despite the fact that we were in almost total darkness, there was a droning sound every single second, and our legs were stiff from standing in a stall for who-knows-how-many days. Did we taste ok?) and as we were loaded into vans and brought to the Belmont Park stables, I pushed away the thoughts and the uneasiness. I needed to focus on winning this race. 

   I wasn't going to let Steele get first place all because of some nightmare.

   If the dream could be considered a nightmare.

   Belmont day dawned bright and clear. At least they didn't have rain like back at home.

   Weather conditions were favorable. The track was nice and solid, not too hard, (which would have meant a lot of jarring bounces and thumps for the jockeys) nor too soft (which meant lots of squishy, squelchy slop for us horses, and a mudbath for the humans).

   This time, not like the Derby, pre-race nerves hit me early. Morning, I'd been pacing in my stall. Good conditions for me meant good conditions for everyone. All the others would be in tip-top shape too.

   Post-parade time… try-to-bolt time…and finally, loading time.

   I waited tensely. I'd drawn no. 4, right in the middle. That was ok. The not-ok thing was that Galilean was no. 5, and Steele was no. 2.

   I turned my head sideways. Steele was glaring, shooting You've-already-won-two-races-I dare-you-to-win-this-one looks at me.

   I could practically feel his loathing. Thanks goodness there were metal bars between us, or it would have resulted into another fight.

   I turned away to study Galilean. His eyes were glazed over again, like in the Derby, and his brown head swung from side to side, slowly…sluggishly, not like us, held high, stiff, alert.

   A whistle sounded. And from that moment on, it was like everything was slowed down. The gates burst open and we surged out.

   I was seeing everything in slow motion. One stride…two…

   My mind had gone numb. And blank. The rail flashed by s-l-o-w-l-y. I could see the humans on the grandstand, their faces and clothing blobs of color.

   We were going fast, so fast the wind was whistling in my ears and almost stinging my eyes, yet at the same time…I don't know… slow. Yes, that was it: we were going very fast, too fast in fact, that if we weren't careful, I would be burned out soon, but I was still seeing everything slow.

   It was either that or I was going crazy. 

   I was in the lead. Something was funny. Somehow…I don't know. Something was wrong.

   I tugged for rein. Chaya held me in. My pre-race nerves erupted into violent anger. Nervousness, tenseness, uneasiness jumbled themselves up, mixed them selves, and resulted in anger.

   I was not happy.

   I was angry. Angry for being held in. Angry for not being let out to run. 

   I fought her. It became a game of tug-of-war. She wouldn't let me have my way. And all the while, I was running, flying down the track in the lead, the others a few lengths behind me. My anger was growing by the second. Pretty soon, I was going to explode.

   Everything was still in slow motion. Chaya finally let me out a notch. I accelerated even farther.

   Good. Now I was happy.

   The happiness swelled inside me like a bubble. I felt light and there was this on-your-toes feeling. Like I was a bird, like I had wings, and like the next rush of wind would carry me away. 

   We were now at the rail. I rolled back an eye.

   There was a black shape inching up! Steele! He was already at my flank.

   The bubble of happiness burst.

   The first turn was ahead. 

   Somehow, everything seemed to go slower than before. It was like I was on super-alert mode. I could hear every hoofbeat, every time our hooves hit the dirt, every creak of the tack, every snort, every rush of breath, every time my mane hit my neck and bounced back to the air. And I was also aware of my knees having that familiar ache, the familiar feeling, the familiar knowledge that I had gone too fast too early and that I was tiring and about to lose the race.

   Steele's nose was now level with the girth of the saddle.

   Chaya gathered her left rein and we rounded the first turn.

   One moment, I was running on the dark brown dirt of the track; it was day and I could see Steele beside me.

   The next, everything vanished.

   The track, the rail, the humans, the grandstand, the sunlight, Steele– everything–vanished. There was fog above me and fog around me. No sky, no track, no anything–just me.

   I was alone, running.

   I couldn't see anything but the thick white fog all around me.

To where, I don't know, from where, don't ask me, _why_ I was running, I absolutely have no idea.__

   Where had I seen this before? I know I have seen this, because…I could even remember thinking those very same words…

   The dream! My dream!

   This was my dream, the dream I'd been having over and over again, only this time I wasn't asleep; this time, instead of me sleeping and dreaming, instead of me watching myself run, it was me running, me living out the dream, me breathing and running and having no idea what was happening.

   I was sure I wasn't sleeping. I couldn't have been sleeping. And yet…if this was my dream, why was it so…real?

   You were right. I am going crazy.

   Every thought of the race, of humans, of captivity, vanished from my mind.

   I was once again the wild young weanling, fresh from the wild…

   Hard to run. Something was holding me back, something keeping me from running my very fastest.    

   I didn't want that. I wanted to run.

   I bowed my head and tugged. Pulled. Strained with all my might to go faster.

   No use.

   It was like moving through water, like when you go swimming and you want to move faster and faster only you can't. Like running through a bog, through the muddy water.

   And then, a ray of sun. The fog lifted. I could see! There was sunshine all around. I was running on green grass. But this was not the grass in my paddock. This was not the grass in any human field. 

   Something was different. The wind came. It blew across my face and I breathed it in.

   That smell. That wonderful smell. 

   Where was I?

   The wonderful smell came again. It was very familiar. The sweet smell of the wind…

   I was home! But not back in my meadow, with Mother and Northlight and the others.

   This was in the wild, open range. 

   But this was unfamiliar country. I'd never seen these rolling hills before, nor the trees, the land…

   This was different. Even the mountains were different. But somehow, I knew it; felt it in my bones; I knew this place…as if I'd seen it before, …but I knew I hadn't.

   The grass stretched on and on. I kept running.

   A thundering sound filled my ears. I glanced back. A herd of horses running, running, trying to catch up with me.

   They wouldn't be able to! I felt a surge of happiness. I was winner!

   A wild herd. Those were wild horses. Tame horses wouldn't be here…My herd! Northlight, Mother, Golden, Thunder…my herd was chasing me. Why?

   No, on second thought, they weren't my herd. 

   I couldn't see Thunder. And the chestnuts weren't golden chestnuts, like Golden.

   But they were chasing me all the same. 

   I ran faster.

   From the pack, a black shape came racing toward me. I was now running with my head turned back, watching.

   It was a black colt. I watched him, saw him stretch forward, backward, forward, backward, his hooves effortlessly propelling himself towards me. I watched him close the distance between us as if I was standing, marveled at his beautiful smooth flying action, wondered at his speed.

   He came to settle on my right side. His head was now to my middle, his nose straining for my shoulder.

   Then he turned his head to look at me, and I felt all the wonder, all the marvel, all the admiration vanish to be replaced by anger.

   I was angry at him. Why? We weren't enemies, because I didn't know him…and yet…he was very familiar too…familiar…where had I seen him before?

   Yes. That must be it. I was angry because I was already tiring ad he would win the race. That must be the reason.

   I turned my head forward and went faster. Everything–the blue sky overhead, with fluffy white clouds, the forest of trees in the distance, the dark mountains– everything thinned and blurred into one line of color. The wind was definitely whistling; I closed my eyes because they stung; My hooves flew back, forward, back, forward, in a race to the finish…

   I opened my eyes. His nose was already to my neck. 

   Every time I inched ahead, he would soon follow. We were neck and neck; first he would go faster, then I would. We were like two snakes, both equal in speed and strength, both inching for the finish line…

   My anger flared. I was going to do something to him when we were both distracted by something to my left.

   The wind was whirling, swirling, forming…what was it? It was like the wind was drawn to a spinning vortex, a column of white, powerful wind.

   It was forming something. But what? The vortex was wide–it could be anything.

   The front and back ends were being made first.

   A head was being shaped; ears, eyes, nose–it was as if the wind was chiseling a form out of thin air.

   At the back of the vortex – a pair of flying hindquarters, so much like mine, was whipping forward, backward, a tail was streaming behind…

   The head appeared. Mane, forelock–it was a horse!

   He was now complete. A gigantic black horse, his mane waving in the wind, his tail flowing, his hooves pounding the earth and yet there was no sound, no shaking of the ground, no sign that his hooves were touching the grass.

   The black stallion tossed his head and let out a piercing neigh. At least, his mouth formed it, his throat vibrated, but there was no sound.

   Even though the vortex was gone, the wind was still all around him…I had a feeling he was the wind…  

   The horse was coming to meet me, coming to meet us. He angled over, his long legs covering, swallowing up the ground with big strides. I know we were already going very fast, my very fastest in fact, but watching the stallion as he came to run on my left side without even seeming to exert an effort…

   Now I was running in the middle, galloping with a black colt on my right and this eerie, mysterious stallion on my left.

   His outline was blurry, fuzzy…glowing? Why would he be glowing? But he was glowing.

   Was he real? No time to ask. I had to outrun both of them. And I was already going my fastest. 

   My eyes ran over his face. Warm brown eyes…I had a feeling I'd seen him before, known him before this…but where?

   I studied him. Up close, he was even more gigantic, towering over both of us colts. His face was dished, his noble head tapering down to a very small, delicate nose.

   I couldn't look him straight in the eye. I glanced downward.

   My eyes widened. He wasn't running on the ground; his legs may be snapping back and forth, like mine, but he was running on air!   

   Now I was convinced he was just a spirit, maybe…an illusion? 

   My eyes must be playing tricks on me. Yes that must be it; no real horse could have been running on air.

   One split second later, I changed my mind.

   The stallion had just reached over and sent a warm breath floating up my face.

   I could feel it. That is definitely, absolutely, completely, real.

   The tingling started at my nose. It was like someone had started a fire. The tingling spread like flames through my body, coursed through my blood, made me feel alive, more alive than I'd felt in a long time. I was recharged. My tiredness vanished. It was replaced by this living, sparkling, crackling…energy.

   I was on fire with energy. Energy to race, energy to run, energy to go faster.

   I felt full of power and stamina and speed not yet spent.

   If that was so, …what was I still doing here? The stallion had given me a second chance. And I wasn't going to waste it.

   And the, the something hat had been holding me back gave way. I had my head. I could do what I want. And that was to run. I could run as fast as I wanted.

   I tucked in my head. And began to run. Not that I wasn't already running. But this was real running.

   And right now, I discovered that I hadn't been going my fastest, not yet. 

   Right now, I could go even faster still.

   And that was what I did. I did what I'd been born to do, did what I wanted to do. I ran.

   You don't know how it is, this feeling that you could run all day and not get tired, that you could go so faster than cheetahs, that you could fly, the exhilarating feeling that you are soaring through the air; you won't know this feeling of power and speed until you've felt it yourself.

   The thin line of blurred color that had been the trees and the sky and the mountains went white. I lengthened my strides, increased the number of strides, flew past the black colt, flew past the black stallion, charged out ahead.

   I had speed. And I was using it.

   It was like I hadn't been running before, like someone had just poured a lake of this energy into me. 

   I ran. High above me, an eagle soared and shrieked. It folded it's wings and dove. I raced with it, going faster.

   My hind legs landed on dirt and pushed me forward. My forelegs hit dirt, held me while my hind legs reached out…in...back out…in…out again, in a never ending cycle, going faster, faster, FASTER…

   My mane and tail were flowing behind me. I was free! I was back in the wild and I was racing with the wind and I was FREE!

   I wasn't getting tired yet! The realization hit me with a bang. I'd been running this fast and I wasn't tired yet!

   I glanced back. A multi-colored mass was still there, still racing. Just before it, a black speck was running, still in the lead.

   They were dots on the horizon. I am not exaggerating.

   I had won!

   The last thing I saw was the black stallion, rearing on the hill, waving his forelegs in the air, dancing, dancing in victory… 

   Then, all at once, the sky and the grass and the mountains thinned and dissolved and were swept away by the wind.

   Suddenly, I wasn't seeing in slow motion anymore.

   The humans, Chaya, the race–everything came flooding back to me.

   The roar of the crowd filled my ears, drummed against my skull. I looked up to see what was the matter and caught a glimpse of a thin wire stretching above my head before we flew past it.

   Then, Chaya was pulling me up, slowing me to a canter, to a trot, and finally to a walk.

   My chest was heaving, my lungs burning for air. I pulled in great shuddering gasps, my mane sticking to my neck, sweat trickling down my back.

   I glanced back and was surprised to see the pack distant dots of color, and a slightly larger black shape leading it.

   I'd finally stopped panting before Steele slid into view, blowing and heaving.

   And the dagger-look he sent my way, filled with hatred and loathing and poison and his clear wish that I would drop dead just then, couldn't do anything to take my happiness away.

   I didn't believe it when they told me. It was impossible. But I'd done it.

   I'd broken Secretariat's record. _The_ Secretariat's world record.

   The record held by Secretariat for decades.

   Secretariat had run the Belmont's 1 ½ mile at 2 minutes and 24 seconds. He had won by 31 lengths.

   I'd run it at 2 minutes and _21_ seconds. And won it by 33 lengths. 

   I was now the fastest horse in the world.

   Jockeys, trainers and hotwalkers gathered at my stall, coming to look at me, run their hands up and down my legs, walk me to and fro. All the other Oakwood Acres horses were subjected to the same treatment.

   Sims couldn't do anything about his you-can't-see-my-horse-in-his-stall-you-can-only-watch-him-in-the-field-and-at-races policy. Our owner had told him to give in to the demands. He had to.

   Owners of other farms came with higher and higher and more outrageous prices, trying to bid out each other, wanting to buy us, especially Bright Renaissance, Steele and me, since he'd come in second and the bay stallion had come in fourth.

   Of course, they refused. They would make more money out of us when we retired, because owners of mares would want us to sire their foals.

   I thought that once we got away from the racetrack and back to the farm, humans would stop coming and everything would be back to normal.

   I was wrong. 

   At the farm, we were put out in separate paddocks, where humans could stand and watch us running, dozing, sleeping, grazing.

   At least I was back in my old paddock, Sir Peppero having been moved in with Moon, Marionette, and Fire Phoenix.

   And since Steele was in another paddock a good distance away, the others, particularly Marionette, could temporarily regain their freedom of speech.

   It was like a holiday, a holiday that would last forever, those days, when we would graze side by side, the fence between us, swishing our tails to keep off the flies, not a worry in our minds. Marionette kept us chortling with her outbursts and her imitations of Steele and I kept them laughing with my jokes. Fire Phoenix, ever the moody one since his brother and best friend was sold, came out of his shell. Moon just smiled her gentle smile at everyone. Even Sir Peppero joined in, and once he did, we saw a side of him we'd never have seen before. His normally gruff and crusty attitude vanished, and he became more playful. And…no Steele to eavesdrop on us, no Steele to make cutting remarks, no Steele to spoil the day…

   Each night, I imprinted the memory of those golden days in my mind, determined to cling to them.

   Because I've known from experience that good things never last long. And I didn't want this to ever end.

   I pushed all thoughts of the race behind me, determined not to worry about my next race, or whether anything bad would happen.

   I forgot everything about the race, the win, the world record, the weird dream and the black stallion who had helped me.

   I forgot everything, that is, until the afternoon Sir Peppero turned to me with a puzzled expression on his face and said, "Who was that big black stallion who was running beside you in the race?"


	16. Stolen!

Disclaimer: Uohhh…(* shakes head, puts hand to forehead, fakes frustration*)..I thought we'd alre- never mind. J .Ok, I don't own the Black, but I do own Spirit (aka. Free Wind) , Moon Dancer, Bella, Steele, Thunder, Northlight, Sandstorm, etc etc etc (sorry, too lazy to name them all right now)…:…

   Ok, I'll shut up and get on with the story…

Chapter 15 

   I could feel my eyes bulging. "_What _?!"

   Sir P stared at me. "You know…that black stallion? He was running inside the oval, on the grass, with the rail between you two…" He trailed off.

   "You could see him too?" I blurted, starting to pace.

   "Yeah…but I don't think the humans could. No reaction from the crowd, no reaction from the jockeys…" He snorted. "You would have thought all the humans were blind. All the other horses were too far behind you to have really seen him, but _he_ did…" Sir P jerked his black-and-white-speckled head in Steele's general direction. "Gave him quite a scare, that black stallion did…" He glanced at me uncertainly.

   I didn't hear him. The black stallion had chosen to reveal himself at last…

   Well, at least that was proof that I wasn't going crazy. 

   The sun was gone. Sparkling stars filled the heavens. This would be my sixteenth or seventeenth night in here. I'd been left alone, not seeing a single inch of training track the whole time. 

   And that was all right with me.

   I was standing with my head down, my tail swishing slowly, dozing, like the others when a rustling noise woke me.

   I raised my head, tense.

   There it was again. It was coming from…somewhere from the lane up ahead.

   Now I was fully awake. Something was wrong. The humans had already done everything they usually did evenings. But now two of them were coming down the lane.

   I cantered to the gate to meet them.

   They were strangers.

   I knew that immediately. They weren't from the farm…so what were they doing here? Strange humans were only allowed to come in daylight. Unless…

   One of them opened the gate slowly. He reached out with his hand, trying to scratch my ears. 

   I drew back as far as I could without taking a step, uneasy.

   "Hey boy…" 

   That voice. Where had I heard that voice before?

   "Remember me? I met you at the racetrack…"

   Oh yeah…right…I'd forgotten. Sims' friend. The one trainer he'd allowed to see us on the night before the Kentucky Derby.

   I calmed immediately. He was all right then. 

   The second human was creeping up behind him. I became nervous again. The human was reaching into something, pulling out–a rope!

   But our lead shanks were just hanging by the gate…

   I stiffened. Something was definitely wrong.

   "Let's get him!" The second human said in a hoarse whisper. His hand came up, over my head, holding the rope.

   I followed his hand with my eyes. Then, he began twirling the rope. 

   "No, wait!" Sims' friend shouted.

   I snorted and started in surprise. My eyes fell on the twirling rope again, the rope the second human was preparing to bring down on my head, and an image flashed into my mind. An image of a colt, cowering beneath such a lasso, trembling…trembling…

   With that image, came the instant memory of the pain such a lasso was associated with. I remembered the lasso being flung around my neck. I remembered the whip going across my back…

   And I went wild. 

   Rearing as high as I could, I screamed a warning and bolted across the paddock, waiting, ready to flinch from the expected whip.

   But there was no whip in sight. And the humans were already running!

   I trotted to the corner of the paddock and stood, breathing heavily. Winters had passed since my training sessions with Jim, but I still remembered everything. _Everything_…

   This human might not have meant any harm. But my reaction to the lasso was instinctive. And immediate.

   "Hey!" Moon galloped over. She touched her nose to mine. "You ok?"

   "Sorry…sorry I woke you guys up…" I was still staring back up the path. A light had gone on in a stable and two other figures burst out the door, running toward the two strangers. The strangers ran left and disappeared behind some bushes. The two humans who had chased them slowed, and headed our way.

   "Hey boy." One of the humans let himself into my paddock and approached me slowly. It was Dick.

   I let him scratch my ears.

   The other human turned out to be Sims' nephew. He was bended over, studying the path. He straightened, motioned Dick closer, and they began to talk. 

   I stayed where I was. Sir Peppero came over, wide awake, and for the first and the last time, wasn't angry to be wakened in the middle of the night. His ears were perked up as he moved closer. 

   "They weren't just going to see you," he snorted to me. 

   "Wha–? Why? What do you mean?"

   "Think, Wind, think! What would they have done if they had gotten that rope around your neck?"

   "They would have…"And then it came to me. "They would have taken me away," I whispered, dropping my head.

   "Exactly. So it was a good thing you yelled. They weren't from our farm, and they would have stolen you. And my guess is that once they have you, they'll hide you for a while, then change your identification number and sell you again."

   He was serious. I gazed at him disbelievingly. He jerked his head towards Dick and Sims' nephew. " You don't believe me, look. Even the humans know it."  

   They were busy discussing something. Soon, both humans left.

   Sir Peppero stayed awhile longer, then moved off. But before he did, he glanced sideways and warned me again: "The stealers won't come back tonight. But you watch out. And when they do come back, make sure you yell plenty. I can't stand my favorite student being taken right from under my nose." He grinned and turned away. 

   _Favorite student _!?

   I shook my head in amazement at his retreating rump and settled into a comfortable position, careful to keep my eyes as wide open as possible.

   But as night wore on, my eyelids felt heavier and heavier, and I just had to close them… 

   With a jolt, I woke up and realize I'd been dozing. But everything was still fine…

   Maybe Sir Peppero was right…maybe the stealers won't come again tonight…

   This time, I half-closed my eyes and made sure to wake up every now and then to look around.

   Moon stood beside me all night, the fence between us, dozing like me, waking when I did, dozing…waking…dozing…

   I remember waking up less and less often, sleeping longer and longer.

   I remember watching Moon's silver head sway gently as she struggled to keep awake.

   But the thing I remember best is nickering to her, my eyes half closed, sleepy, so very sleepy, "Thanks a lot…and if I am taken away from here…I'll try to come back for you…"

   And I remember her soft answer before my eyes closed again: "I'll be waiting…" 

   "Hey! Hold him!"

   The Iron Man's voi– sorry; the _Blacksmith's _voice was loud. I took a step away, even more startled than before.

   The intruders had come several yesterdays ago. I was still uneasy.

   Loud noises made me jump, and yelling humans like this one made me tense.

   It wasn't that I hated shoeing time. The Iro– sorry; the _blacksmith's_ hands were firm but gentle, and he was normally nice and friendly, even soothing horses when we got rattled. And even though I didn't really like pieces of metal being nailed to my feet, the nails never hurt, we never got cut, and the shoes helped us run faster because they had clods underneath them for more traction. So, I usually just stood still, because that meant he finished his job quicker.

   But this was not normally.

   The blacksmith was ok. Chaya, as she stood holding the lead shank, was even better. But the dog was not.

   There had never been a dog around here before.

   But there was one now. 

   And it was because of me.

   The morning after the stealing attempt, Sims had headed out and had come back with this very lively, very friendly, and very loud ball of fur.

   And now, it was trailing me everywhere, getting under my feet at grooming time, poking its' nose in my face at feeding time, and here, at shoeing time, letting out loud woofs every time the Iron Ma– sorry–_BLACKSMITH_–'s Metal-Headed stick hit the Metal-box-thingie. 

   It was making me very edgy. This had been the eighth time( yeah I counted) I'd pranced away because of the dog, who could barely keep his excitement inside.

   It was like he had this super-sensitive radio receiver, and every time a human passed within two miles of him and sent radio signals bleeping, he would go head over heels with joy at meeting that human.    

   And right now, there were two humans here, not two miles away, but just inches from him, and he was going crazy at that.

   Talk about over-enthusiasm.   

   When I'd tried to bolt at the track when I'd first seen the dog, Chaya had shouted at Sims angrily, forgetting her usual respect, to "Get that animal away from Wind! He's about to bolt!", as I stood, wide-eyed, trying to decide if I should bound over him and race away or turn and go back the track.

   To my shock, instead of becoming mad like I'd expected, Sims had coolly replied that "That 'animal' is here to safe-guard that horse in the first place, so I would like it very much, Ms. Andrews, if you would keep your mouth shut and use your head first in the future." Chaya had glared after him, speechless and furious, and even though I couldn't see her, I felt her anger through the reins.

   And now, as the Iron Ma–fine! I'm tired of having to apologize every time I say 'Iron Man' instead of 'Ir–never mind. And now, as the _blacksmith_ raised his Metal Stick, one hand on my hoof, holding the shoe, about to hammer the last nail in place, the dog followed his hand with its eyes and leapt upward, snapping playfully.

   That was enough excuse for me to snort and snatch my leg from the Ir–_blacksmith's_ grasp.

   I stood, with all four feet on the ground at last, my knee aching strangely from having been held up so long.

   The blacksmith sighed and bent over, his hands on his knees, panting, his forehead glistening with sweat.

   "Never mind that last nail.  It's already in place; I don't think it would've needed that last time…" he shook his head. "Sure wish I could've made a-certain it won't fall off though…"

   He began packing up as Chaya thanked him and led me, the last horse shoed, away, the dog bouncing along, playfully yapping at my heels, no doubt thinking of using my hocks to sharpen his claws.

   I was edgy. _Was_ edgy. 

   However, as the next few days passed quietly and the stealers didn't return, I became more relaxed.

   The dog had finally been taken away after I nearly tripped over him at a training session, almost sprawling to my knees. He was now tied to a ring on the stable door, in full view of my paddock.

   Sims had me transferred to the stable, even though it was the middle of summer and I could have stayed outside at night. Here, with a horse across me and a horse beside me (I was at the last stall), I could sleep in peace. If needed, there were plenty of voices to raise a ruckus around; the dog was right outside the door, and one of the grooms was sleeping in the hayloft. 

   With all that security, I was sure nobody would try anything.

   I didn't know how wrong I was.

   Midnight.

   My eyes shot open; I don't know why. Maybe it was just the wild horse inside me. In my stay here, my wild-horse-self had lain low, keeping a quiet profile. But now, with all these things, even though the tame-horse-me had relaxed, the wild horse inside wouldn't let me rest.

   And as I said, wild horses don't trust their instincts for nothing.

   Right now, I was awake, with no idea why. I looked around at Moon across the aisle, turned my head and saw a glimpse of bay as the two-year-old in the stall beside mine snored gently, heard some horse rustle his/her hay, watched the sliver of moon make the shadows nice and dar–

   I froze. 

   The shadow had _moved_.

   Curious, I moved closer to my stall door, poking my head out over it.

   And it was then that my halter was grabbed.

   Sims' friend rose up, the stall door between us, his hands like steel on my halter forcing my nose down.

   I threw up my head, fighting him. He hit me, a glancing blow that made my head snap around, my face stinging.

   His partner, the one who had tried to lasso me, handed him a small object.

   Something was pressed to my nose. Tight. I whipped my head from side to side, desperate to get it off. It clung like a leech.

   That something was nice and soft. But it had a strange smell. I gulped in a air with my mouth and held my breath as long as I could.

   The stall door had opened and the stranger was inside, tying cloths to my feet. I didn't notice him, still trying to shake off Sims friend.   

   I whipped my head from side to side. My lungs were burning. I needed to breathe soon.

   Phew. I let out a breath and tried to gulp in another. Only I found I couldn't open my mouth. Sims' friend had a cloth tied around my jaw and over my nose. My teeth were clenched shut.

   Great. Just great. Now I couldn't whinny for help. 

   Fine. I couldn't whinny. I had other ways of making noise.

   The stranger cursed and scrambled away as my hindquarters flew. But instead of the sharp crack I'd expected as metal hit wood with enough force to knock a man unconscious, all I heard was a muffled sound.

  The cloths! The cloths around my hooves prevented them from clopping, prevented them from making any sound, prevented them from waking anybody.

   Ok…this wasn't looking good…

   No choice. I had to breathe in through my nose.

   And once I did, something felt…that was funny. The air I drew through my nose, through the soft something smelt…strange.

   Yes, that was it.

   The smell. The air I drew in through my nose, through the soft thing held over my nose, was saturated with a smell.

   Such a nice soothing smell…strange smell…musty smell…

   I quieted. The smell worked its' way up my nose, though my mind…and I quieted.

    So…quiet. So warm…So nice and silent.

   I nodded my head dreamily. My hearing…all I could hear were muffled sounds, no sharp distinction or anything…

   I turned my head around. Two humans. I felt a spark of…what? Tension mixed with fear and excitement? die down.

   There was no need to be afraid. No need to be tense. No need to be alert. No predators. I was not the prey.

   I relaxed. These men were friends.

   So dreamy… so…so…dreamy…sleepy…I was floating on a sea of cloudy sensations. My mind was getting foggier and foggier.

   Blank…hazy…dreamy…sleepy…

   The face of a human swam into view. They had taken me from the stall…were leading me away…

   A door opened. Where was I? I was in a wooden cave…didn't recognize it…I saw the face of a filly across…the lines were blurry. She looked like I was seeing her through thick white smoke. I remembered thinking it was the most beautiful face I'd ever seen.

   My vision was going blurry. Lines became smudged, everything seemed to be shifting from one side to another.

   I got more sluggish with every step. My knees were swaying. My feet felt like anvils of metal. I dragged my hooves, shuffling. My head felt unnaturally heavy.

   I wanted to lie down. I wanted to lie down somewhere and go straight to sleep.

   There was a human holding me. Who was he? I couldn't remember anything. My mind wasn't working. I nodded dreamily and followed him docilely as he led me somewhere. 

   Where was I? I didn't remember anything anymore. The human holding me cursed. 

   "You idiot! You put too much chloroform on the sponge! Now he's going to pass out here and we have no way of getting him inside the trailer…" I couldn't hear anything anymore. No distinct sounds, just an obscure _thug_ _thug_ every time anyone made a noise. It was like my ears were covered with very thick earmuffs.

   Something was drawn across my hindquarters. I felt…something. Pain? A sting?

   Whatever it was, I really didn't care. I only wanted to go to sleep.

   The human tugged on my halter. What? Oh, ok. He wanted me to go faster? 

   Fine. Fine. Anything he wanted. As long as I could lie down somewhere and go to sleep.

   I broke into a trot, the thick cloths around my feet often bumping into each other.

   A dark shape loomed up before us. What was it? But I didn't want to know what it was; I just wanted to know if it was somewhere where I could go to sleep.

   I was dimly aware of being led up a ramp. Inside was nice and dark and black.

   My hearing wasn't sharp anymore. But the last thing remember, the last thing I remembered before the door closed with a heavy bang of finality(even though all I really heard was a particularly loud _THUG_!), the last thing I ever heard or saw before sleep took me, was a high-pitched whinny coming from the stable.

   I remembered thinking it was the sweetest sound I'd ever heard.

   Then, my knees buckled and I fell on thick straw.

   Before I hit the straw, I was already asleep.   


	17. Westward

Disclaimer:  I  D O  N O T  O W N  T H E  B L A C K

Chapter 16

   My ears filled with banging and clanks.

   My eyes shot open. The farm was never this noisy. Where was I?

   I raised my head. I was lying on a bed of thick straw. That was nice. Dark, gray, metal walls rose up around me. That was nasty.

   Up above my head, a tiny crack of a window let a ray of sun into the metal stall.

   The metal stall bumped and jarred to a stop. With a slosh, cold water hit my back and drenched part of my neck. I turned to see an overturned bucket. 

   I scrambled up immediately.

   An ear-splitting head-ache hit me. Heavy doors swam in my vision. I steeled myself against the rocking motion of the metal stall and turned my head around, fighting the nauseous sensations rising in my stomach. 

   Unfortunately, horses can't puke. 

   There was a human sitting on the hay, asleep. His head lolled from side to side, sometimes dropping onto his shoulder. Another bucket was in his lap.

   He was a stranger. I was wary of strangers, but I was also very hungry. And he was asleep.

   I carefully took a step forward and peeked into the bucket.

   Oats! 

   In a flash, I'd forgotten my carefulness and had shoved my muzzle into the bucket.

   They were different oats, not the same as the ones on the farm. 

   But they were food, and I was hungry.

   I cleaned the bucket, feeling a lot better (the dizziness had gone down a little, even though my stomach still lurched every time the stall did). And a lot more alert.

   Why was I here? Who was this human? Why was I not back hom–

   "Ahh!"

   It had all come flooding back. My head still ached, but it was clearing a little. Clearing enough for me to remember what happened.   

   I remembered standing in my stall. I remembered breathing the strange stuff and getting all drowsy and being led here.

   My eyes shot to the metal stall again. It was moving, rattling, jerking. I'd been in one of those before. A van. This had to be a van.

   They were taking me away! No. I was _being_ taken away. 

   Where?

   How long had I slept? I dashed to look out the window.

   It was just big enough to poke my nose through.

   Fine. I gave up and stood thinking.

   It was morning.

   I glanced at the sleeping human again. He was wearing the same clothes I'd remembered him wearing. But it had been midnight then, so I wasn't really sure.

But I knew for a fact that humans changed their clothing everyday.

   So…either I was asleep for so long the human had already washed and dried and was now wearing the same set of clothing he wore, or he hadn't changed his clothes at all.

   I brushed his shirt with my nose. The smell of sweat was still strong. But what made me make up my mind, what confirmed my guess, was the still-lingering, cloying, musty smell of the strange liquid they had used to make me fall asleep.

   I turned and studied the door. It looked heavy. If I tried to break it open, I would get out. But the human would also wake up. 

   Should I get rid of the human before I did it? But no…that would mean killing him. And…I'd never considered myself a killer. I'd thought about it once, just after Sandstorm's accident. And I'd firmly decided I wasn't going to kill anyone, any-horse, not unless I was forced to do it to defend myself.

   I looked at the human again. Maybe I could knock him out. I'd heard about those stories; horses kicking their humans; the humans fell into a deep sleep and woke up later.

   Yes, maybe that was what I should do. But I'd never intentionally kicked anyone before. How strong should it be, to not kill him yet to knock him out?      

   I raised my cloth-bound hindquarters and gave the wall a practice kick.

   There was just a _thug_! But a huge dent appeared in the wall. 

   Too strong. I backed up to try again when the human stirred.

   I forgot everything about using the wall for target practice and trained my eyes on him, tense.

   The human raised his arms and stretched. He opened his eyes and stood up.

   I lowered my head and stamped the floor with one hoof, narrowing my eyes, flattening back my ears, telling him with all the non-violent signs I knew to keep back.

   He took a step forward.

   He was either very brave or very stupid. I bared my teeth.

   But he was just bending over to pick up the overturned water bucket.

   Then, the van gave a particularly violent jerk. I hit the wall, and the human was sent sprawling at my feet.

   He regained his balance before I did.

   We glared at each other. Then he reached out a hand and hit the van wall several times. 

   The van continued moving before finally slowing down after a while. Something banged. I swung my head around, distracted. The human with me in the stall reached forward. One swift click and he had me on a lead line.

   I didn't fight him. If I was docile and quiet, he would let down his guard. I could get away then.

   So, for the meantime, I played the loving little horse.

   He led me to the door. I pushed his shoulder with my nose. 

   I waited. No reaction. Ok…umm…different tactics…

   The door opened. Sunlight streamed in. I half-closed my eyes immediately, and stepped out with him at the first tug on the line.

   The moment my hoof hit the ramp, I knew something was wrong. Every time I put my left forefoot down, every time I took a step, a sharp _ping_! went through the air, along with the usual muffled _clip_ _clop_.

   My shoe was loose. It had probably happened back when the blacksmith was shoeing me the other day, and I'd pulled away before he could nail in the shoe properly.

   Sims' friend was waiting for us. He cursed when he heard me, and knelt down to examine my feet. I stifled the urge to hit him around the head and snuffled his hair instead. Maybe if I was "good" enough, he would take all of my shoes away. 

   Not that I minded about wearing shoes going back to the wild. It was just that I didn't like the idea of returning home bringing something man-made with me.

   Sims' friend straightened. He scratched his head. He paced a few steps.

   "Something's wrong with the horse." 

   I pricked up my ears. _Good_! Very good. He'd noticed.

   "Why?" asked the stranger.

   I pawed the ground impatiently. _Come on…take off the shoes_…

   "I don't know."

   _Go on! Take off the shoes_!

   "It's just that…well Sims said that he's usually vicious towards humans…he'd tried to kick me back when I first met him…and look at him now, standing there, not raising a whinny in protest. I mean, he's been with you most of the night and he's not even tried to kick you?" Sims' friend sounded amazed.

   Oh. Oh _that_. And I'd thought…

   " Of course, I could just be wrong…or he may just have not liked certain humans…or maybe it's just the van and us and the strangeness of everything…but…" His eyes narrowed. "I may not know a lot about horses than I pretend to…but…horses don't suddenly change their behavior overnight." His eyes were slits.

   Aughhh! _Ahh Ahh AHHHH!!!_

   Stupid me! How could I be so idiotic? Of course he'd noticed! I'd been a fool to not behave more like myself.

   I set out at once to correct that.

   My hoof _pinged_! again as I stamped the ground and swept back my ears. Maybe that would convince them…

   Fortunately for me, the sharp _ping_! reminded them again of my loose shoe. And to my great relief, at last, at last, they got out a hammer and decided to just remove all of my shoes. Partly because they didn't know how to nail one on again, and partly after having seen me walk lopsided with one shoe-less hoof.

   Besides, they didn't have any more new nails.

   While they were still figuring out how to get the nail out, I stood and looked around. It was nearly noon, with the sun high overhead. We were off the road, and parked well away from it, even though I could still see the thin gray ribbon of asphalt stretching away to the horizons on both sides.  The truck was pointing to the West. Behind us, I could see a small lump of a multi-colored mass that had been houses and buildings and farms.

   Of course. They didn't want anybody to see me. By now, Chaya and Dick and Terri would have found out that I was missing. They would have started looking for me hours ago, if this was already almost midday.

   The rich green grass tickled my knees as the wind went through them and made them dance. 

   I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply. And began to formulate an escape plan.

   The stable was back there, somewhere. If I could get away now, I might be able to reach home within a few days, assuming we were _that_ near home. Of course, I'd have to outrun the humans first. 

   And that was my greatest worry. Out here, in this wide, endless plain of forever-waving grass, there would be no grove of trees to hide in, no rivers or streams to lose my scent into, no fallen logs to zigzag through or make them lose sight of me. 

   Out here, I was helpless, with only my speed for protection. And I doubted that could last me until I got home.

   No matter how many books you've read, how many movies you've watched, how many stories you've heard, it simply isn't possible for a horse to go on galloping day and night, day and night, without ever stopping. Those things you see and hear, specially in stories about war chargers and noble mares running on and on and on through the night, bearing their masters and mistresses to save a castle or to battle a dragon or to rescue a pretty maiden–those things just can't be done. I mean, horses get tired too. They're not machines. 

   No offense. I even wish it could be done. Then, I wouldn't have any problems anymore.

   But that's fairytale.

   And  this is reality. Out here, with the truck, they could easily outrun me and catch me again when I was tired. And after they caught me, they would be sure to tie me up, or to shackle me, or to do some way to keep me locked in. Then I won't have any hope of running away anymore.

   I'd changed my mind. I wasn't going to run away _now_. I was going to run away _later_.

   But no. The realization hit me with a bang. The longer I waited, the farther I would get from home, the longer the distance I'd have to travel, the more chances are of my getting caught again.

   Now I was really torn. The idea of running away now was beginning to look attractive again.

   I could do it. I could knock them both out, and make my escape. By the time they woke up, I'd be miles and miles away.

   But what if I was mistaken? What if we were farther from home than I'd thought? I'd seen these machines run. They could go on running for days and nights, as long as they were fed Machine-food, and as long as they were in good condition. They could cover dozens of miles in a matter of hours. What if they'd been running at a gallop for days and nights and we were leagues and leagues away and I didn't know it? In a strange neighborhood, I would get lost quickly. And what if I was caught by other humans who would sell me off to even farther places? Or what if they kept me and beat me again? I would never find my way home again.

   I couldn't be sure. There were a lot of _what if's_. And I couldn't risk losing my chance for freedom. I'd have one chance. Only one chance to do it. One chance and that was it.

   And I wasn't about to waste it.

   So, when the humans finally took off all my shoes, let me sniff around, shook the line and said, "Hey Mister! Inside now," I followed meekly, quietly, my feet strangely light.

   I allowed them to rake a few brushes through my coat. I let them laugh and shake their heads and shut themselves inside once more.

   I stood still in the van while it chugged and jerked and started to move away once more, knowing, knowing that if I was wrong, I'd be farther from home that I'd ever been in all my years of captivity.

   Knowing that if I let this once chance slip through my fingers, or rather, hooves, I would never forgive myself for it.

   Days and nights passed while we were inside the van.

   I knew because I kept watch. And I counted the nights, each time the sun set and the moon shone. Every sunset, I pushed away some hay at a corner of the trailer and made a long scratch with my hoof along the wall. It was a straight line, just enough for me to see and count. If you didn't know it was there, you would never have noticed it. 

   Most of the time, we were in the van. After that one brief walk outside at noon, they never let me out again when the sun was shining.

   They shoved moldy hay into a rack, gave me a bucketful of stale water every time the bucket was drank dry or was overturned by the motions of the van (which was more likely than not; I could swear that the floor never went thirsty again while I sometimes had to look for every drop of water I could find) , and fed me a handful of oats every now and then, if they felt like it.

   At least they took away the damp straw every time the water-bucket overturned. If they didn't, I would probably have gotten the thrush, which is a disease of the feet. Horses get it when they stand for long periods of time in damp and dirty straw. 

   I stayed in the van and listened carefully to every word that passed between  Sims' friend and the stranger.

   And I learned a lot.

   Sims' friend was called Boss. Well at least, that was what the stranger always called him, though I wasn't really sure that was a name. As in, "Oww! Ouch!! Okay, okay, alright Boss! ALRIGHT! I'll do it!", when "asked" to muck out the stall. 

   The stranger, now not a stranger, was called "Yo!". Or sometimes, "Stupid!". Or even "You Idiot!". As in, " You idiot! How could you have forgotten to put the shovel–" blah blah blah. But he was mostly called 'Yo!' I'm not sure those are names either. But whatever…that was what they called each other, and that's what I'm going to call them.

   And by the way, I'm now referred to as "Hey Mister!". Or sometimes simply as "Hey You!" 

   Wow. Two additional names. That makes it a grand total of four, aside from "Spirit" and "Free Wind", not counting all those names Chaya called me when I bucked her off, or those names Mother called me when I was very young and very small and very *innocent*.

   So many names. I'm flattered. Can you smell the sarcasm? 

   But that's not the point. The point is, after several days of observation, I soon found out that Boss was the dominating one, and Yo the underdog, the one sent to do all the dirty work, the one who had to do everything while Boss lazed around.

   For instance, Yo was the one who mucked out the stall every morning. Now even I know mucking out a horse stall is not exactly pleasant, unless you're so awed and amazed and everything that you'll be thrilled to do it. Most horse-lovers, like the grooms back home or others, don't mind doing it. But these humans did.

   Boss ordered Yo to fetch things, to repair the van once, to groom me while he would be the one to walk me around, or to sit in a chair outside, watching.

   I found out that they weren't the ones who'd wanted to steal me in the first place. They were 'hired' by someone.

   Wow. That's a whole new perspective of the strange and peculiar humans in their ridiculous clothing. 

   But I suppose that's the way their minds work.

   I won't know. I've never been a human.

   I heard Boss once. He was holding a small black square to his face and talking very fast. He sounded angry. Yo was out front, driving the van, so I only heard a few words above the noise.

   Something like, "You said $ 4 million split! We get 2 million bucks each. What?! No….Yeah he's here…No. No–"

   Whatever it wasn't, I never did get to find out; the van had just let out a particularly loud _clunk_! at that moment. 

   "No. I want…higher. Yes. No, higher than that. He still gets a million, but I…yeah…yea–"

   Another noise; a _bang_! this time.

   "No. It's either 6–no–yeah. Yeah. But I'm warning you, either you pay us or we set him loose or sell him elsewhere." He slapped the black square and slipped it into his pocket.

   This was a one-room van. You go up inside the ramp, and that's it. No stalls, no partitions, nothing whatsoever. So we had to share the stall. He'd been nearly shouting. My ears were still ringing.

   I swiveled them backwards when he flopped down on the straw and studied me.

   "There you go, Mister. 6 million bucks; 4 for me, and two–" he sniggered "– for him. And the best part is," he stopped forward on his hands and knees so that he was looking up at me–" the idiot doesn't even know it! He still thinks we're getting 2 million each."

   I stepped away. My hindquarters hit the stall wall. He scrambled up and took his usual place, near the door, beside two bulky things I've heard are called 'backpacks' containing their clothes and food, and the iron bins with my food inside. 

   I settled into my new dark home. Everyday was the same, every night no different. Time was measured only by the length of the sun's rays coming inside the narrow window. Days were monotonous.

   The humans took turns driving the van. Each morning, the one who had driven the night before came inside. He changed places with the one had spent the night with me. First they fed me, changed the water, and mucked out the stall. They ate, changed clothes, and then the one who had been driving settled down beside me for a good day's rest while the one who was driving took his place up front.

   The whole day was spent inside the van. The humans didn't stop often in daylight, longest during noon, where they would eat once more. Then it was back to more driving and rattling and more bone-and-teeth-jarring bounces and bumps and loud _clunks_! and _thunks_!     

   Every sunset, while they ate (humans either had a very large appetite or they just like eating), and changed places once again. While they were doing this, sometimes outside, I would scratch my line on the wall and carefully cover it up again with straw.

   They argued often, mostly because Yo didn't want to do what Boss ordered him to. Then Boss would hit him and he would go, stumbling, muttering, shaking his head, throwing glowering looks back at Boss as he went about his chores.

   Days with Boss were different from days with Yo. Days with Yo were filled with silence. He mostly spent his time snoring away.

   Days with Boss were sometimes interesting. He didn't sleep as much as Yo did, and he never snored. Instead, he slept with his mouth hanging wide open, so that once, he nearly swallowed an adventurous fly who had flown too close. Fortunately, the fly got away. Just barely.

   Other times, when Boss wasn't sleeping, he would talk to me, but his talking to me was as different from my talking to Moon as night was from day.

   Boss told me about everything he did; his past accomplishments, his plans for future crimes, his family and his past.

   I would stand with my feet braced, ignoring him while he chattered away.     

   Once or twice, when the hay ran low or they needed anything else, one of them would park the van away from a town, while the other would hike on foot toward it. And they usually came back with supplies.

   They never let me out during the day. At night, usually when it was nice and dark and quiet, they would stop, far away from the road, clip on my line, and let me stretch my legs.

   And always, always, the view would be the same. An endless expanse of grass, with the gray road stretching in both directions. Sometimes, there would be a tall metal tree with several rectangular leaves pointing in different directions. Sometimes there would be a fork on the road, either where we had come from, or to where we were going. Sometimes, there would be a small lump in the distance, with bright twinkling lights, and I would know that those lights weren't stars; they were the last town we passed through.

   And always, always, no mountains. No trees. No hills. No anything. Just grass. Sometimes, I would see a black line running across the plain, and I would guess if they were trees or distant mountains or just my mind playing tricks on me again.

   And as each day passed, I sank more and more into despair, until I began to wonder if this journey would ever end. I gave up all plans of escape. I wondered if I would ever get out again, see the sun, run with the wind in my mane, talk with Moon…

   And then one midday, the humans seemed lightly tense. Earlier that morning, Boss had taken out a round cylinder and a brush. He'd dipped the brush in the cylinder. It came out with some thick dark liquid, which he dribbled all over my coat while Yo held me. Boss painted me all over until I wasn't a golden dun anymore; I was now a pure black. The paint smelled funny but I was kept from further investigating as to how it tasted by being tied to a ring on the wall I hadn't seen before. And now, both of them were out at front. It was the first time they'd left me alone on my own.

   I soon found out why. 

   When I was stolen, I knew that sooner or later, someone would come looking for me. I'd thought that only our stable would know about it. I never imagined that others would be looking for me as well.

   I was dozing when I heard the voices. Boss was telling someone that I was "–just a hunter" he was bringing to a friend. He made up a whole story of how I was his horse and he was bringing me to stay on his friend's ranch for a few weeks because he was going away on a "vacation." Whatever a 'vacation' is.

   Boss told the somebody that if he wanted to see me, he could but added that I was "very nervous and bound to kick someone; he doesn't like long journeys, but you can take a peek on him."

   Someone had taken a quick look in the high window.

   Then, more talking.

   I stood thinking very fast. Why was this human questioning Boss and Yo? What did he want to know? 

   And then I heard my name. " – looking for a horse called Free Wind–" Why was he saying that–_was he looking for me_? 

   The horrible realization hit me. Someone was looking for me–and I hadn't even told them I was here! Maybe that was someone from home.  If they found me, I could get away once and for all!

   It was hard to lift my head with the line tied to the ring. But I tore out the rope and sent out a shrill whinny as the door banged. Oh no! We were already moving! I kicked the wall, continued kicking and kicking until I knew the human wouldn't hear me anymore.

   And I continued kicking, now in frustration. He'd almost found me! Oh if only the human had cared to take a closer look…

   All through the afternoon, I continued kicking, alternating all hooves when one got tired, until finally, Boss hopped back beside me and yelled at me to stop it.

   Yelling didn't make me stop. A hard whack to the head did.

   I staggered sideways, my head ringing. And I stopped.

   From then on, Boss and Yo stopped only at night. They spent the day sleeping away, and I overheard them saying it was too risky to travel by daylight anymore. They didn't take off the black paint.

   Fine. I was going to be a black horse. Fine. I've always liked black horses, except for one very big and very mean black colt whom I've always disliked. You know who.

   It would be nice to pretend to be a black horse. 

   The new life continued. Now, after I kicked him once, Yo decided he was better off sleeping in front, with Boss. 

   That was ok. At least I wouldn't have to listen to him snore. Yeah, that was what my life got around to these days : watching these two humans sleep.

   And then, one morning, before they drifted off, I heard something that made my ears prick up, something that ignited a spark of hope, something that rekindled the flame of home-sickness.

   They were talking about where they were headed. I'd known we were going southwest, out of Kentucky, a long way from home. And that they were bringing me 'west'. I knew that my mother had once been brought 'west' too. And that 'west' eventually ended up near the 'Coast'. 'Coast' meant the sea. And I certainly didn't want to go swimming. 

   What had started everything was the phrase, "Hey, wasn't that where those broncos run and where the fella back there was supposed to come from?"

   I know _broncos_ mean _mustangs_. And they had said that we would pass that place _soon_.

   I was excited. Very excited. All thoughts of my human home rushed out of my head, to be replaced by the familiar peaks of the mountains bordering my meadow, the woods, the canyons and gorges, and my herd.

   And now came a drastic change in the plans.

   Once, before, when I'd planned to escape, I'd planned to go home. Home to Chaya, home to Dick, home to Moon and the farm.

   Now, when I escaped, I would go _home_. Home to the wild.

   Every time they let me out, I would look for the dark smudge in the horizon that would mean mountains. Mountains were my landmark.

   And one night, I saw it. There were more trees now, and the landscape was changing.

   I would wait. I would use the humans. We were going closer and closer to those mountains. I would wait until we got close enough, not too far, because that wouldn't do any good, and not too close, because I didn't want to lead them to my herd. Too late and I would overshoot. Just right, I had to do it just right.

   I clopped back inside the van, my head filled with happy memories of running in a meadow filled with golden sunshine.

   Soon. Very soon. I would run in that meadow again.

   The next day, I counted my scratches. Or at least, I tried to count them. 

   Unfortunately, horses can't count.

   But the scratches were many. So many I could guess that at least a full moon must have passed, more or less.

   The day passed. Boss and Yo had a quarrel, over who would do what. Boss and I had a quarrel, over who got more space.

   The sunset. I added another scratch and waited patiently for my evening feed.

   But today, instead of putting out the hay, Yo led me outside.

   They rarely let me do that now. But if they did, they usually did it before feeding me. That was normal. I trotted around and came to a stop.

   Boss was staring at me with an strange expression on his face. That was unusual.

   He'd never looked at me that way before, as if he was now seeing me in a new light, aside from being a money-making object. But I'd remembered at the way he'd began observing me when I ran, or when I trotted, or when I walked.

   Now, he stood up and walked over. I stayed still, the memory of the sharp whack I'd gotten when he was in a bad temper still fresh in my mind.

   "Yes," he mumbled. "Of course. Thoroughbred racehorse…how could I've been so stupid? Triple Crown winner…and I'd never thought of riding you…"

   Before I knew it, he was on my back, his knees pressing my ribs.

   He shook the lead line and squeezed with his heels. I broke into a trot. I made trotted my bounciest trot, hoping his teeth would be jarred out of his head while we were at it.  

   He swung the line and hit my flank. "Faster!"

   Fine. Okay alright…you don't need to yell. I broke into a canter. His hands were clenched on my mane.

   "Whee! Show me that Triple Crown speed of yours. _RUN_!"

   I was getting annoyed. After 3 years as a racehorse, I didn't mind being ridden now. But he wasn't sitting on a saddle; no bridle, nothing whatsoever. I was getting annoyed because he was sitting all wrong, leaning too far to the left, then too far to the right. His weight shifted from side to side. I was getting confused. Back at the farm, we had been taught to change directions at the merest shift of the weight. And he was shifting from side to side now, so fast hat I didn't know which way to turn.     

   I was annoyed because his hard grip on my mane hadn't relaxed. With his bouncing up and down, he was almost yanking out my mane.

   I didn't like that.

   And I was annoyed because the free end of the line was bouncing along with every stride I took, swinging from side to side, hitting my knees, almost making me trip. If only he had the good sense to pull it in, I would be most grateful.

   Unfortunately, he didn't.

   We were already very far from the van. I turned and headed back.

   He took his hands from my mane and punching the air. 

   "Wheeee!!! _FASTER_!!!"

   The line was bouncing harder, faster, and it stung.

   I went as slow a gallop as I could. I wasn't used to being ridden bareback, and if I went any faster, he was sure to fly off and break his neck. And he was sure to drag me down with him. I remembered Sandstorm's accident. He'd tripped. His rider had jumped clear just in time. But then, Terri was an experienced rider, not to mention a jockey. This human was probably too foolish to know what to do if he and I fell. 

   "WHOOPPEEEE!!!! YIIHAHH!!! I'm a cowboy!!!! WAHOO!!!"

   Who wouldn't get annoyed at being ridden while running at your slowest, fastest pace, trying to obey your rider's commands to go faster and yet not daring to because you don't want him to fly off and drag you down with him? Who wants to be ridden by a yelling maniac waving his arms about and behaving like a kid?

   And then, I heard his voice near my ear. "Awww, is that the best you can do? Is that your very very fastest? Awwww, poor horsey. Did you win the Triple Crown by doing that too? Why, even I could outrun you! Ha ha! _FASTER_!" The first part was said in a singsong voice. The second part was yelled out.

   He kicked me in the ribs. Hard.

   Ok. I don't get mad easy. But this human had gone way overboard. 

   I put on my horse brakes. Yes, right from a gallop into a straight stop. He didn't fall off. Instead, his upper body slammed forward, onto my neck. 

   Bah.

   I reared. And reared even higher, higher than I've ever known I could rear.

   Uh oh. Too high. I went down backwards.

   Together, we crashed down onto the earth. This foolish human didn't jump clear. I landed on top of him.

   There was a sharp crunching sound.

   At first, I thought that I'd broken my neck or leg. Then the moans of pain reached my ears. His fingers were clenched around handfuls of my mane and the halter and the line had been ripped off.

   I scrambled up. He was clutching his leg, groaning. One swift kick to the face and he stopped doing that. His head lolled from side to side.

   And oh yeah. He looked nicer too, in his new black-eye.

   The other human, Yo, came running, waving his arms.

   No, I didn't wave back.

   Right now, I was mad. I whirled and swung my hindlegs upward blindly.

   There was a sharp crack too, as I felt my hooves connect with bone. Yo's head snapped back and he fell.

   I sidled closer and put my head down beside their mouths.

   They were still breathing. Good.

   That would keep them knocked out for hours.

   But what should I do now? I was stranded in the middle of the desert, with two unconscious humans and a trailer.

   Great. Just great. Should I wait for them to wake up? No, probably not. I didn't want to think about the possibilities of what Boss would do to me if he woke up and found I was still here.

   I snorted at the thought of Boss running around, trying to catch me, waving his arms like mad and yelling, "Bad! Bad horsey! Stay! No, STAY! I said STAY! Bad horsey! Very bad horsey!"

   But meanwhile, should I just leave them lying here? Or…yeah…

   Yeah…I hadn't thought of that before…

   Why not just run away right _now_? 

   Come to think of it, that was a good idea.

   If I got away now, I would have several hours head start, because after they woke up, they would probably sit around, tending to their bruises. Then they would set out to try find me.

   By then, if I ran hard and kept up the pace, I would have gotten far away. Very far away.

   Also, once they woke up and found me still here, they would do what I didn't want them to do; tie me up, lock me inside, never let me out again. And once that happened, the chances of getting away _again_ were very, very slim.

   Oh goody. But I hadn't planned on escaping this early.

   Oh well. One chance. Might as well take it.

   I set off, cantering. Running felt wonderful. Being used to running almost every day, after weeks of being cooped up inside the van, my muscles were screaming for action.  

   I was some distance away before I slowed and looked back. What else would keep them busy for hours?

   An idea began take shape. Oh yeah. Why not?

   I'd noticed that the humans a great deal of time arranging their things. They liked everything neat and tidy.

   Maybe…

   I went back. Back to the trailer. Past the knocked-out humans, past the line and halter lying on the ground, and back into the trailer.

   And there, I wrecked everything I could.

   I grabbed their backpacks with my teeth and dragged them outside. They were sealed, but I tore them open somehow. Then I scattered their belongings, gripping an open back-pack with my teeth holding my head to one side to keep them away from my legs, and cantering in ever-widening circles around them both.

   Both backpacks done, I went back inside. The straw! I stood, with my head inside and my tail facing out, and began to paw backwards.

   Soon, straw was flying thickly through the air. I made sure to make a nice, thick mess of their things and the straw.

   I toppled the hay stacks, rolled the water bottles outside with my nose and kicked holes in them, and overturned the bin of oats.

   The horseshoes were thrown outside. Anything else that was small and had several pieces, I scattered.

   The front of the van was made of glass. Two sure kicks shattered the windshield.

   I added to the dents already on the walls.

   Then I stood back and studied my work.

   Oh. And one last thing to make sure they would never, ever find me.

   I ran a good distance away.

   Then, I lowered my head, and charged full out.

   The trailer loomed up ahead, getting larger and larger by the second. 

   I hit it with my shoulder. It shuddered. I hit it again. And again. 

   Each time, it shuddered more and more, until it began swaying, tipping, going from one side to another, its wheels alternately in the air.

   I reared and hit it with my hooves one last time.    

   It groaned. It swayed. It groaned some more. Then, with a final groan of defeat, it gave in.

   I scrambled out of the way as the van tipped, went into a canter as it fell on it side, wheels spinning crazily in the air.

   I turned my face to the northwest and ran. I didn't stop. And I didn't look back. 

   Just moving and not standing still felt wonderful. I'd almost forgotten the feeling of the wind whipping through my mane, the feeling of flying flat out and not caring a single thing.

   So I went into a gallop.

   And as I ran, it felt like a huge burden had been lifted off me. It was like I was once again the wild young yearling; no memories of being abused, no thoughts of tracks or races, and best of all, nothing at all about two-legged creatures.

   I didn't know for how long I ran. But I covered distance quickly. Traveling with the road in sight, I followed it to…I don't know…I just followed it. 

   Then, came the crossroads. Three different roads branching off from my own one.

   And I didn't know which one I should take, which one I should follow.

   A voice, a barely remembered whicker came into my mind, a whisper in my ears, an echo of my mother's voice.

   _Listen to the wind_… _listen to the wind_…Yes. That was what she had said. But wait. There was more…

   _The wind talks_…_It swirls and talks…it whispers to us…and we only have to listen to it…so whenever we are lost…when we can't find our way home…we just have to listen to the wind…listen…listen…_

   And then, I remembered something else; something else my mother had said.

   Follow the sunset by day…and the north star by night…every true mustang will find his true home…where he truly belongs… 

   Well, I certainly didn't fit in the strange world of the humans. But now, I wasn't entirely sure my herd would take me back…

   So, I closed my eyes and listened some more to the wind.

   I waited. 

   _Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh_…

   What did that mean? Can someone please hand me the wind dictionary?

   WHOOSH…WHOOSH… 

   This was getting ridiculous. I was standing here, in the middle of nowhere, and listening to the wind talking.

   What?

   I waited some more. But then, the wind can't speak horse, and I certainly haven't heard of a place called _Whoosh_, if such a place exists.

   And then, when I was about to open my eyes, the wind came. It came, stronger than ever before, and it blew against my neck. It was strong; my head changed direction. It blew and blew, until at last, I thought it was pushing me. But where? 

   My eyes flew open. My mouth opened too, about to complain out loud.

   And then I stopped. I closed my mouth.

   I was facing the west, the spot where the sun would set.

   Of course. I could see it now.

   Go to the west… 

   West was away from the road. Very far away.

   So, I ran, facing west, following not the road, following not my guesses, but following the wind. And the wind was blowing, pushing me west.

   I ran.

   Then, when the trees in the distance looked remotely like trees, I stopped, turned my head north, and went into a trot.

   The moment I entered the trees, every last shred of tameness disappeared. I slowed to a walk, panting. There wasn't a path, so I made one of my own.

   Going through the forest reminded me of playing with Thunder in our meadow. And remembering brought an ache, a sweet, longing ache to be home again. 

   I wandered for hours, pushing north blindly, not knowing where I was going, but knowing that the trees would somehow end.   

   Every step I took, every whiff of the wind came bringing long-lost, long-forgotten memories back to mind.

   I wondered about Thunder. He and I shared the same sire, and Northlight had been big. Thunder would be almost as big as I was now, maybe even bigger, since his mother hadn't been exactly small. Would he have his own herd? Yeah he probably would. Would he have a lot of fillies? He would be an experienced fighter now, maybe even more experienced than I was. I daydreamed of helping him fight whatever stallion was threatening his territory or trying to take his mares. Would he still recognize me? Would we still be friends? 

   Probably. Then again, probably not.

   Mother. My throat closed at the thought of meeting her again and telling her of everything I'd been through. She would be twelve, thirteen springs now, turning fourteen next spring. But she would still be black. The white star on her forehead would still sparkle and shine. She might be older now, but she would still laugh and make me laugh. And best of all, she would still run. And I would race with her. And I would make her proud.

   Northlight. He might be also be older, more noble, more distinguished, but still might, still powerful, still invincible. I wondered if he would still acknowledge that I was from his herd. Or would he have forgotten me already?

   The sun sank slowly as I pushed my way deeper into the forest. 

   Since I was alone, I was easy prey for coyotes or cougars. But I could fight them…

   Night. I was getting alarmed. It was already dark, and I still hadn't found a clearing.

   And worse, I was getting thirsty. 

   Hungry was no problem; I could reach over and munch on a leaf anytime I wanted.

   But water now…

   I hadn't come this far, gone to such lengths just to die of thirst.

   I hadn't fought and bucked and kicked all this way just for nothing.  

   When I didn't know what to do, I gave up and stood still and closed my eyes. 

   The night was eerie. It was filled with shadows, shadows of the fearful, shadows of the unknown, shadows of predators, waiting to pounce on me. Strange sounds and smells came.

   After years living with humans, I didn't recognize them.

   I don't like getting scared. But right now, the familiar, icy feeling of fear was rising in my stomach, sending chills down my spine, making every _whish_ sound like a cougar's breath, every twig that snapped sound like a snake…

   I was alert. I was tense. I was ready to bolt. 

   But bolt where? Surrounded by trees, shadows and darkness all around me, I couldn't run anywhere. Here, my speed was useless.

   Stop. This was all wrong.

   A wild horse wouldn't have been scared. A wild horse would have known exactly what those sounds were, and what to do. He would have known exactly where he was.

   Guilt filled me. I had failed! All those lessons my mother had taught me long ago; all those days spent observing and teaching, all that time to prepare me, to show me how to survive on my own, everything–all forgotten.   

   I had failed her.

   I kept my eyes closed, not wanting to face reality.

   But when I stood still, and kept my eyes closed; when I just listened to the wind going gently _whish_ _whish_ through the trees, when I listened and gleaned comfort from the strange rhythm of the wind and the trees and the grass swaying, swaying, gently dancing in the gentle rhythm of life, slowly, everything began to filter back into my head. 

   Slowly, everything began coming back.

   That _whish_ _whish_! I realized suddenly. I knew what that was. That was the sound the branches of the Tree-that-reaches-the-sky made when they rubbed together. 

   And oh! That sound! That was the owl hooting good night. And the frogs croaking. I heard the insects buzzing. 

   The smell! That wonderful smell. What was it? I'd forgotten what it was.

   But oh! It was the smell of the grass. Not green, human cultivated grass grown with barrels of fertilizer, but the sweet smell of the sun-ripened, almost-dry, sparse grass of the wild.

   Wild grass! Real grass! The grass on which the wild horses ran…

   Sounds, smells, everything came flooding back.

   Suddenly, I remembered. I remembered everything, every single thing I'd learned.

   Suddenly, the forest had gone from being a strange place full of fear to a familiar place filled with the things of the wild.

   It was like waking up, like after a long, deep sleep, it was suddenly opening my eyes and seeing sunshine again.

   My eyes shot open. I felt recharged, thirst forgotten, in my excitement of remembering.

   Then I glanced down. And immediately jumped aside. I looked back over my shoulder and saw, clearly, a glaring trail of broken twigs and misplaced pebbles; snapped branches and trampled blades of grass that anyone with eyes might be able to follow.

   I also saw the hoofmarks.

   Ack! I winced.

   But there was nothing I could do about it.

   So, I set my face forward. And went on.

   But there, back there, I left the last of the tame horse behind. From there on, I was again a wild horse.

   The trail that humans could follow stopped back there, in the middle of nowhere.

   Because from that moment on, I traveled as a wild horse, not as a tame horse. 

   My thirst returned. So I followed my new-found nose, followed my instincts, and found a small trickle of water; followed that trickle of water until I reached a creek.

   And at that creek, I drank, the water flowing down my parched throat, the cool, sweet, water that spoke of snow-covered mountains. Fresh water. Wild water. 

   Then I went on, pushing back the weariness, going ever northward, until at last, when the sun peeked over the mountains, I found a nice dry cave and slept.

   That was the way I traveled: sleeping by day, running by night.

   This way, I found that I didn't have to lose sweat in the heat of the sun and have to stop for water often; I could travel in the cool of the night, running in the moonlight.

   The day after I left the cave, the forest ended. Once more, I faced an open unending plain, a sea of grass that waved and tickled my knees.

   But this time, unlike before, I knew what to do, where to go.

   Galloping by moonlight was wonderful. I could go on for hours, trotting, cantering, trotting again, galloping when I felt like it. The wind was cool. I had moonlight to guide me. 

   I didn't get thirsty that easy. There was no sun to blind me, no scorching heat to make me wish it was winter, and best of all, no fear of humans.

   Humans sleep by night.

   And that was when I moved.

   That way, I made my way steadily north, until the dry, sparse grass gave way to the lush green kind I'd grown up on, and the Prickly trees became Triangles.

   You know, the Triangles? The ones with the crunchy cones?

   I hugged the tree-line, running on the outside and when dawn came, entering the forest for a drink of water then off to find some sort of shelter. Sometimes, I even slept out in the open. 

   Plains may look endless. But they aren't.

   Nothing ever is.

  On the third or fourth moon after I found the creek, a little after a week after I escaped, I reached the foot of the plateau. The plateau that had, for a week, been my steady landmark, a slowly rising mound of red rock.

   I'd followed the creek north, tracing it back to it's source. But now, the grass simply ended, just like that.

   And before me, the rock face began.

   No choice. I couldn't go back.

   I looked for a trail and began to climb.

   How I made the rest of the journey, I don't know. All I ever remember are the cool nights of running, the brief climb up the plateau, across it's face, and down the other side, and more endless running through woods and plains and woods and plains again. How many deep streams I forded, how many rivers I swam, I never bothered to count. 

   One full moon had passed since my escape, one and a half moons after my being stolen, two springs from when I was first captured.

   Chaya and Dick and Moon and racing and silver bits and creaking saddles were worlds away.

   But by now, I'd forgotten all about them.

   All I knew was that, somehow, following the north star, the brightest star at the very tip of the beak of the Eagle, with it's head to the north, its wings to the east and west, and its tail to the south, (horse constellations are different from human ones), I threaded my way through the country. Somehow, I would get there. 

   I didn't care when something came across my path. If it was big, I climbed it. If it was small, I jumped over it. Always, always, steadily northward.

   All I knew was that I was headed home.

   And then, one day, I'd climbed up a high knoll where there was a good view of the surrounding plain.

   It was then that I saw it. A huge range of mountains in the distance, with the familiar dip in them, with only open blue sky.

   Those mountain ranges! They were, had always been, a familiar sight in my foalhood. Somewhere, at the foot of one of those mountains, somewhere among the mass of lush green valleys that lay at the foot of those mountains, just below Three Peak, would be my own meadow. 

   With renewed hope, I set off. 

A/N:  mystery008 – how is your gelding?

The copper araibian – Samson's leaving? That _is_ sad. Did you use to ride him? Why did he get lame? What color is he? How old is he now? And is San Jose in California? I'm really sorry; I'm not familiar with all the places and stuff.

Wolfite – Seen the horse who plays the Black–wow, that's cool. And he wasn't afraid of all the people around and the stage smoke? For a breed like an Arabian, that's incredible. I mean, Arabians and Thoroughbreds are normally very spirited. They usually shy at things and noises, and etc. He must have been well-trained and used to crowds of people and stuff. How are Han Rose and Claudette?


	18. Home again

Disclaimer: (please see chapters before; I've written all the interesting disclaimers I can think of.)

Chapter 17

   I covered the distance in a fortnight. 

   Since this was already deep in the wild, I abandoned traveling in the night and resumed to running at daytime. 

   Good bee, humans!

   Two weeks, and while I ran, the mountains grew steadily bigger.

   I passed valleys of wildflowers, meadows with bubbling brooks and streams, cascading rivers, miles upon miles of trees, and all the while, the mountains loomed closer and closer.

   The nearer I got to home, the more signs I saw of wild horses.

   Here and there, in lush meadows where no one lived but the deer and the butterflies, I would find piles of droppings, marking the territories of stallions. The smell of mares and foals would be there too, but they would be stale, thin. 

   On the dirt paths, I would find tracks. Dozens of them; big track, small tracks, mixed in with rabbit and coyote and cougar tracks.

   But I met nobody.

   Of course. These were their winter grazing lands. It was just the beginning of autumn now. The herds would be migrating south, down here, when the first cold winds blew. 

   I sniffed around and made sure to graze only at places where no territory was marked. I didn't want stallions to come looking for me when they arrived with their families.

   As I went north, the smells grew fresher. Stronger.

   The first herd I met had come south early, probably not wanting to be in the way when the other herds began to move. I rounded a well-worn path, filled with fresh scents, and found myself face to face with a very very surprised stallion.

   He hadn't expected to find anyone down here, and certainly not another stallion.

   I didn't want to fight. I didn't want his mares. I didn't want his land, I didn't want anything from him. All I wanted was to pass through his territory.

   But here, you don't call for reservations and … yeesh …

   "Sorry," I said, and vanished up the path before he could even bat an eyelash.

   I met the second herd three moons after that. But this time, I did want something.

   I was thirsty and I needed permission to drink from their stream.

   I asked for it. The stallion eyed me, sizing me up, probably wondering if I was going to steal his mares. He stood studying me for so long I thought he was going to say no. But he finally nodded.

   So, I drank. And said thank you before I left. 

   He said something too. He said, "Is your father Northlight? Because if he is…well, you just look a lot like him…we used to know each other…and if you want to know, his territory's just around the corner, next to mine, beyond that string of trees."

   I found Northlight's meadow and scouted around, sniffing. I found a familiar scent. Probably Golden's. But try as I might, I couldn't find Mother's.

   I felt an alarm bell ringing somewhere. Something was wrong. Why wasn't Mother with the herd when they left this place last spring?

   But I pushed it away and went on. She'd probably taken a different path or something. She would be alright.

   I couldn't find Northlight's scent either. But then, I hadn't known his smell very well, so I probably just mistook his for someone else. And then I remembered the stallion's words: "…_used_ to know each other…" Oh well. the past tense didn't really mean Northlight was dead. Maybe they had just played together as foals or something and got separated when they grew up.

   So this was where Northlight had taken the herd all those years ago, when Mother and I were captured. Well, they may have gone somewhere else, but they were certainly going in this direction.

   So…logically…if I followed the general way north, I would find the hill, and beyond that, our meadow. 

   I remember that day well. Several moons after I'd met Northlight's friend, the trees thinned and gave way to green grass and open plain. Soon they altogether disappeared, although there was still a dark fringe of them in the east. To the west, I would sometimes catch a glimmer of red rock, shimmering in the heat. Ahead, Three Peak, where the snow and rocks dipped and showed the sky, loomed before me. Soon, the ground in front of me began to rise.

   By sunset, I was standing on the old familiar hill, looking on the old familiar meadow.

   _My_ hill.

   _My_ meadow.

   And below, a small group of grazing horses…

   _My_ herd…

   Looking down on the peaceful party of mares and foals, I felt a deep happiness washing over me from head to toe.

   I was home!

   Hmm. No sign of a stallion, but there was still a scent…

   Oh well. He'd just probably gone to have a drink. I would introduce myself when he got back.

   I turned right and headed into the trees. I would watch, observe, look around first. I didn't want to surprise them. 

   In the woods, I crept forward, walking lightly, softly. As my mother had taught me to.

   My blood was racing at the thought of meeting her again.

   The wind came. It was blowing in my face. Good. The herd wouldn't smell me.

   I stepped out of the woods. 

   Heads shot up. The mares and foals scattered.

   That was ok. They didn't know me. But they soon would.

   I took a few steps forward. The mares edged back.

   My head swung right and left as I studied them.

   Strange faces. Different faces. No one from my original herd.

   No one recognized me? There was a sinking feeling in my stomach.

   And then, from behind the herd, a chestnut mare, shining golden in the sunset, came forward uncertainly.

   "Spirit?"

   Golden!

   I trotted to meet her. She stopped a few feet from the bunched mares.

   I bowed and dipped my head in respect, keeping my head lowered until she dipped her head and returned the greeting too.

   We rushed to meet each other. I buried my nose in her shoulder, her warm smell filling my nostrils, and remembered doing the same thing when I was younger.

   She snuffled my mane, then stood back to look at me.

   I found that I was already taller than she was. She had to stand back and tilt her head to look into my face.

   I studied her. She was older now, built heavier, sway-backed, her muzzle graying, her coat losing it's sheen. But she was still a golden chestnut, her warm brown eyes still twinkling, her step still high, her movements graceful. In the sinking sun, her coat still looked like what I'd remembered of it; dazzling, and with a golden tint to it.

   Her voice was soft. "You've come home. I knew you would."

   Her eyes grew wide. A shadow fell over both of us. 

   I wheeled around. A small, chunky stallion was standing there, eyeing me warily.

   "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

   I opened my mouth, but Golden answered for me. "He doesn't mean any harm. He grew up in this herd and he's come back looking for information. I promise he won't take any mares. Don't worry, I just want to talk to him."

   The stallion was still eying me with mistrust. He finally slid past us, going off in the direction of the bunched mares, probably to reassure them everything was fine.

   Golden led me into the woods. 

   "Talk," she said simply as she fell in step beside me.

   I shortened my strides so that she could keep up. 

   "Who was that stallion? Where is Northlight?"

   "I'll tell you later." She wouldn't meet my eyes. My in-built alarm bell started  clanging again. I pushed it out of my mind.

   "Talk."

   So I talked. While the sun set and the sky turned dark, I told her everything that had happened to me; every single thing that I'd done.

   I told her about Jim. I told her about Sims. I told her about life at the farm, about bits and bridles and machines. I told her about Moon.

   The night wore on and I poured everything out to her. And Golden just walked beside me and listened. 

    Telling took all night. We walked in a wide circle and came back to the meadow just before dawn. 

   "And so, I came here and found you." I finished. "Now, it's your turn. Where is Northlight? Who was that stallion and why is he here? And where is Mother?"

   Golden fell silent. Finally, she sighed.

   "Come here." She led me out of the woods, and back into the meadow. The other mares and foals were still asleep, huddled together. They didn't wake up.

   Golden stopped just before a huge tree with spreading branches.

   She pointed with her head. "He's over there."

   I followed her gaze, followed it and saw a huge patch of grass. A huge patch of grass greener and thicker than all the others…a patch of grass on a huge mound. 

   A huge mound that was all that remained of a once noble, once powerful, copper stallion.

   I felt my throat close. My eyes became moist. I forced my mouth to move. "Who?"

   She looked as sad as I felt. When her eyes met mine, they were filled with pain. "Saber."

   Saber. The big black stallion who had his mares just over the ridge…the one who was always trying to steal our herd…

   So Saber had finally gotten the best of Northlight.

   I forced out another word. "How?"

   Golden shook her head. "Your father wasn't as young as he was. The spring after you were captured, Saber came again. They fought, like they always did. Saber was younger. He might not be that wise or experienced, but he was younger. And Northlight was growing old. Saber came out winner. He moved us to his valley over the ridge, along with his herd. But he made a mistake. There were too many of us. Too many mares with foals to feed…and not enough grass. Quarrels broke out. Saber was so busy trying to resolve the arguments that he didn't patrol his borders carefully. Another stallion came. Saber was defeated."

   I scanned the now-awakening herd, looking, searching…and not finding what I was looking for. There were bays, chestnuts, a brown…but I couldn't see a shining black back. Mother was missing.

   I wanted to know more. "What about Mother? Where is she?"

   Her words were pouring out. Her voice was shaking. She continued her story.

   "That stallion separated us from Saber's original herd. He took Saber's mares and left us to wander alone. With nowhere to go, and no stallion to protect us, your mother, as lead mare, led us back here. 

   She held us together all the time there wasn't a stallion to lead us. When there were quarrels, she solved them and the mares were satisfied. She kept things running as if everything was normal, as if Northlight was still alive. When Shinto came along and found us, your mother struck a deal with him. We would let him stay, if he would continue to let her lead us. Your mother knew that was the only way to go on living peacefully, that if we let him have control, everything would fall into pieces. All the mares agreed.

   For a while, things were fine.

   Since Shinto wasn't from around here, your mother showed him around. She led him to the richest patches of grass, the coolest waters; she even climbed part of Three Peak with him to show him the other stallions' lands and their boundaries. 

   But Shinto was foolish. He was young and wild and arrogant. He wanted more, much more. He was greedy. He was mean to the mares. He would disappear for days at a time, not doing his duty as stallion, leaving us alone and not protecting us. It was almost like not having a stallion around again. Your mother tried to overlook things. She persuaded the other mares to let it go, that having a stallion, however irresponsible he was, was better than having none and having to fend for ourselves. When Shinto vanished, she was there to guide us. 

   One day, he told us he was leaving for a while _again_. Your mother knew what he was going to do. She also knew that if Shinto fought the stallion, he was going to lose.

   She advised him not to go after that stallion's territory, that it would be too dangerous for him, that this meadow was fine, was just large enough and suited us perfectly. We didn't need more land. He didn't listen. She went with him, talking, arguing, pleading, saying that she didn't want to have a herd without a stallion _again_.

   He hit her. And told her that if she wanted to lead the herd that much, why didn't she say so at the start?  He said that he didn't need her, that he could have done things better than she could ever have hoped to do.

   He'd outright insulted her. Everybody knew that all your mother had done, _everything_–hadn't been for herself. It had been for the herd. And now he was going to treat her like this?

   He was yelling at her. And she was wiser and older, a lot wiser than he would ever be.

   Of course your mother was mad. She came back and said that she'd had it. Every time Shinto did something wrong, she had smoothed it over with the mares, somehow diverted the consequences. When he'd disappeared, she'd been there, somehow as a surrogate stallion, a leader, someone who led and protected the herd. She had been doing what she was supposed to do, and he'd had the gall to hit her and yell at her? 

   That night, your mother vanished. Nobody knew where she went. Nobody except for me.

   Your mother came to me late in the night. She said that she was fed up. She said that she didn't care anymore. If Shinto wanted to lead the herd himself, fine. Fine. If he didn't need her, she was going away. She was going to find another herd, make another home. She asked me if I wanted to go with her. But I had a foal at that time. And you mother was going up Three Peak, to the mountains beyond. 

   I said no. I had to stay for the foal. She said she would come back when Shinto was gone. But we both knew the truth.

   Your mother wasn't going to come back. Ever. So, we said goodbye. I never saw her again.

   Shinto didn't come back. With no stallion and no lead mare, the remaining mares scattered. Some were taken by other stallions. Others fell prey to he cougars. Finally, only a small core of us was left, a shadow of the once numerous herd that had flourished under Northlight and your mother. We were thin, even though there was plenty of grass around. We were thin from worrying and fretting over what would become of our foals. The atmosphere was tense. Our coats were dull, our eyes glassy, and our minds clouded with worry. Those who still remembered living a good life under Northlight were getting old. They wanted to spend their remaining days in peace. Since I was your mother's best friend, the mares looked to me for leadership. But I wasn't used to leading. I didn't have the experience. 

   Fortunately, Fleetfoot found us. His herd had been decimated; he'd lost half his mares to a rival stallion. He was looking for more members to band together against predators.

   We'd found the perfect match. He needed a territory and more members; we had those but needed a stallion. But we were still wary, still suspicious, because we'd learned our lesson: we didn't want to repeat our previous mistake and give our alliance to an irresponsible stallion. 

   But Fleetfoot proved himself. He was smart enough, kind enough. He was always around. He fought off intruders. 

   He gained out trust. He trained me to take charge, taught me what to do if anything happened to him. He poured everything he knew into my head. I was made lead mare. 

   And so, you have seen how the herd has once again recovered and even grown."

   Golden stopped. 

   My mind was still reeling with all the information I'd just gathered. So that was what had happened.

   "We don't graze there anymore," Golden added, glancing towards the grassy mound again.

   I closed my eyes.

   This wasn't what I'd expected. I'd come back here, anticipating a normal herd life. 

   Only now…Northlight dead…Mother missing…and a herd who would never accept me no matter what I did…

   Nothing was the same anymore. _Nothing_…

   "I can't stay," I choked out.

   Golden hung her head. "You're right. This is a different herd now, one that doesn't know you. You don't belong here anymore."

   She was wise. She'd been my mother's best friend. She was the one who knew Mother best. She was wise. And she was right.

   I opened my eyes and faced her squarely. "Did my mother say where she was going to go?" 

   Golden shook her head. "Just into the mountains. But I told her of a place I knew."

   A faraway look came into her eyes.

   "The most beautiful valley you've ever seen. I was born there. A smooth green bowl…a tiny waterfall at the other end…a stream flows past… cliffs all around…the only ways to get into it is to either climb straight down from above, or go through the Ibex.

   The Ibex is a rock. Three, sharp points jutting out to open space. The middle one, called the Ram's Horn, is the longest. There's no other way through. You have to step off the Horn. But you won't fall to your death. There is a ledge just below. You will land on it. Follow that ledge, hugging the cliff wall. That particular place is surrounded by thorny bushes. Step through. You'll see a tiny, narrow, path under overhanging cliffs. Those are the Ram's Wool. Keep on that path and you're there."

   She turned to me. "She might have gone there. Or she may have just wandered around. I do not know."

   I felt a surge of fear. Fear not for myself, but for my mother. Mother was old now. She might still be fast, but she would be weak. Well, not _weak_, but still… She wouldn't be able to fight, if predators found her. And she was alone. 

   Golden saw my look. "Don't worry. It doesn't look like it, but there are a lot of green valleys tucked away up there. If Bella found them, she wouldn't have to worry for the rest of her life. The grass is good, and water flows. I know," she added, because I'd turned to her, amazed. "I know because I grew up there. My herd was once the most dominant among all the Northlands, or the Highlands, as we called them. My father controlled almost the whole north. But now, no one's left. And no one knows much about the mountains. These days, nobody is willing to take risks. They just want to stay here, in the Southlands, or the Lowlands, where they can be sure of warm sunshine and green grass. They think the mountains are cold, snowy, forbidding. They are right. They think the mountains are dangerous, formidable, harsh on the weak. They are right. But the mountains are also much much more…and to those who are strong, the mountains can be a blessing. The mountains can give them life. It all depends on you. I haven't told anyone about the valley behind the Ibex until now, except for your mother,  because…well…I-I was waiting for the right horses. Horses who would be worthy of the valley. Great horses." 

   "Not even Thunder?"

   She shook her head slowly. "No."

   I could feel my throat closing again. She had given up what was probably the most beautiful place here, the richest valley around. She had given up that secret to…_me_. She had looked past her son, her own son, and almost practically turned over the secret of the valley, to _me_.

   "_Why_?"

   She didn't answer me.

   "No one adventurous enough to go up there and discover the hidden potentials of those mountains. No one is brave enough. No one," she paused, then added softly, "except for you. If you are willing to do it."

   Now that got my attention. "_Me_!?!"

   Golden looked at me like I wasn't using my head. "Of course _you_! Where do you think you're going to go? All the valleys and meadows around here and occupied. You'll have to go somewhere else. And where else but the North?"

   Determination filled me. "I'm going to find her. I'm going to find her and bring her back." I announced. "Then, you two can spend the rest of your days together, rolling on the grass, swimming in the creek..."

   "I'm old now." Golden smiled gently. Sadly.

   "Don't get your hopes up too high. You and I both know that lone horses don't survive very long…" 

   I let out a breath. I would go look for Mother. But I needed to find someone else first. "Do you know where Thunder is?"

   I held my breath. She can't tell me that Thunder is also gone too…

   To my relief, she brightened. "He has his own herd now. Follow the stream until you see a break in the trees. That will be his meadow."

   I thanked her and spent the rest of the day wandering around, going east, then west, remembering all I knew, drinking in the sight of home before I had to leave again.

   I returned at sunset. Fleetfoot was waiting for me. Golden had obviously told him who I was. He invited me to stay as long as I liked, even to go with them to their winter grazing grounds, but I thanked him and told him that I was leaving tomorrow.

   I spent the night, then before the sun came up, found Golden, asked her to thank Fleetfoot for me again, and set off. 

   The morning air was crisp. Fog swirled around my legs.

   The creek was to the east, in the woods. The stream led to and from that. I followed Golden's instructions and soon found the break in the trees, just like she'd said.

   Wow. I've never been this far east before. 

   I scrambled up the bank and shook off the water like a dog.

   The break was ahead. I could see patches of grass here and there, between the trees.

   A twig snapped behind me. I wheeled around.

   A dark horse was standing in the shadows in the small clearing across the stream, hidden by the fog. Nearby, I could see other dark shapes, smaller, who were bunched together in the trees.

   A stallion and his mares.

   The dark horse was walking forward. 

   And then, the sun came out. Golden rays spread across the valley. Light filled the tiny clearing.

   The dark horse cast a look behind him, then stepped into the light.

   I caught my breath as he emerged.

   He wasn't black or dark brown, like I'd imagined. He wasn't even a liver chestnut.

   He was a dapple-gray.

   The stallion shook his head. Silky silver mane flew over rippling muscles. His dark gray coat had a smooth sheen. Light white spots, soft silver dapples ran down his flanks, merged with his iron gray coat, and deepened into black on his legs and nose.

   He was beautiful.

   But he was also a stranger. And I was wary of strangers.

   But still...there was something…something vaguely familiar about those eyes…warm brown eyes I was sure I'd seen before…

   "Spirit?"

   My eyes met his across the water.

   "_Thunder_?"

   The next second, we were both flying down the bank.

   We reared, forefeet waving in the morning air, and brought our feet down together. The resulting splash drenched us both as we met in the middle of the stream. Tiny water droplets flew as we rubbed the sides of our heads together. The water swirled and flowed around our knees and pushed against our sides. It tugged at our tails, rose up to our chests and carried with it a tide of lightness. He shoved his nose onto my shoulder, the way he always did, and I could feel the happiness rising again. Northlight may be gone, Mother missing…but Thunder, Thunder my half-brother, Thunder my best friend, was still here.

   I wheeled and kicked water in his face. He sent a splash my way too, laughing, then turned and whistled up the bank.

   We scrambled out of the water, bucking and wheeling together, as the mares came out from the trees.

   There were three of them, three graceful fillies, each beautiful, each light and fast.

   I nosed their faces in greeting as Thunder introduced us.

   "This is Spirit, my brother…Spirit, this is Sunbeam,…Turquoise…Jasmine…"

   They dipped their heads in return.

   "You have chosen well," I whickered so that only Thunder could hear me. These were good fillies, able to take care of themselves. He had gone for quality instead of numbers. That was wise.

   We walked back to Thunder's meadow, me talking with him, the fillies following behind us.

   Thunder exchanged stories with me. I told him I was going up to the mountains to look for Mother.

   "Come down anytime you want to. You'll always be welcome. We're not migrating south, since there are only four of us; the grass here will be enough to last through the winter."

   I nodded my thanks, told him that I was grateful, but that I couldn't stay long since I intended to be back before winter was here.

   We said goodbye at the edge of the meadow.

   Then, I turned my head towards Three Peak and started off.

   Three Peak was all that I'd envisioned of mountains. It was also much, much more. The lower slopes were easy to climb enough. I picked my way up, weaving, zigzagging through the rocks and pebbles and the occasional flower brave enough to poke its head up this time of the year.

   Hello, brave little flower.

   Hello, rock.

   Hello, Three Peak.

   I climbed up, up, up, until I reached a ledge. It jutted out, far above the lowlands, or what Golden called the Southlands. Inwardly, I found myself doubting her. Were these meadows really considered _south_? Were there really more valleys, more places to be discovered north?

   I would soon find out.

   Meanwhile, this ledge offered an excellent view of the lowlands. 

   Thank you, ledge.

   I could see plain after plain of lush green grass, extending away, farther than the horizon. That was to the south. To the west, or to my right, the grass ended abruptly in what I recognized as my old meadow. There, the Red Rocks began.

   Cliff after cliff, rockface after rockface rose tall, standing proud. I'd played among them once…

   I stood there for along time, just listening to the wind coming and going, standing still and letting my mane and tail flow. 

   Then, I started thinking of what I would need to look for to find Mother.

   It can't be _that_ hard, could it? I turned and moved on.

   One black mare…and how many black mares are there with perfect white stars on their foreheads?

   And she would leave signs that she was there, wouldn't she? Tracks, trampled grass, droppings, snapped twigs…

   But then, this one black mare was very good at hiding.

   However, she herself had been my teacher.

   I was confident enough that I could find her.

   But how good she really was at hiding, I soon found out.

   There was nothing. No sign or trace or anything that proved that she had existed at all.

   I felt my confidence level dropping lower and lower and lower.

   Wait. She may have gone to that place Golden was talking about. What was it again?

   Oh yeah. Through the Ibex. Either that or I would have to climb straight down a cliff wall.

   Maybe Mother had gone there. Oh goody. I had a destination.

   And then, I found a problem. Golden had told me _how_ to get to the valley. That was _through_ the Ibex. 

   But she hadn't told me how to _find_ it. She hadn't told me _where_ it was.

   Even then, that might not be too hard either? How many places do you know of that are smooth, like a bowl, have a waterfall at one end, with a stream flowing through it, and is surrounded by cliffs.

   Okay…I may have an idea of the place I was looking for…but I just was not going to comb through eight mountains looking for it.

   Because that was how many mountains there were in this string of ranges.

   I spent the rest of the day wandering around. The air was cold and crisp, reminding me again that autumn was here. 

   _Autumn_…   

   I also spent the next two days wandering around. And pushing back thoughts like, _This is stupid_. Or, _How pointless is this? I'm never going to find her anyhow._

   And since there were no horses around here, I couldn't ask anyone if they'd seen her.

   However, there were other animals…

   Oh hello, cougar! Wait, wait, wait! Don't eat me yet. I was wondering if you've seen a black mare–? No? Oh. Ah, I'll meet her when I'm in your stomach, you say? No thanks, never mind…

   Unfortunately, I don't speak Cougar.

   Hey, eagle! Have you seen a black mare? I mean, your eyes are pretty sharp…hey talk to me! Wait, where are you going? Come back!

   I don't speak Eagle either. But then, it must have been pretty easy; you just flap around and scream. Or screech. Or squawk. No wait, squawking is for parrots. Screaming. Screaming is definitely for eagles. 

   Imaginary conversations like the above were floating around in my head.

   Just when I began to lose hope, just when I thought I was never going to find Mother, on the third day after I climbed Three Peak, I found tracks!

   Not cougar tracks, not other-woodland-creatures-tracks, but horse tracks! Hoofprints embedded on the ground…

   I rushed to them, moving my nose over them, trying to identify them.

   They were old. Very very old. There was only a hint of the smell, the scent of the owner.

   Then I realized. With a sinking feeling, I realized: the tracks were bigger than mine. The horse who made them had feet bigger than my feet.

   And how many times have I compared my feet to Mother's, and wished that my hooves were as small as hers? 

   I shook my head and backed away.

   Well at least that told me something. At least, I knew now that I wasn't the only horse in those mountains…

   Hours of futile search later, I paused to think.

   What was I doing? I was going around in aimless circles. No wait. That wasn't it. I was going on a well-beaten path, following Three Peak. Yes, that was what I was doing.

   But what if I tried, instead of going along the outside of the mountains, what if I tried going _deeper_ into the mountains?

   I thought about it and shrugged. 

   But now that I'd thought about it, it sounded logical enough.

   If Mother didn't want anyone to find her, she would have gone _deeper_, where no one would ever think to go and look for her.

   So, instead of going along the path, I turned and began climbing again. Higher. North. _Deeper_.

   Were the mountains what I thought they were? Not just mountains but…

   _Were they?_

   Two more weeks later, I found out. 

   Two weeks later, fifteen times I saw the moon later, I stood on the rim of Three Peak and looked down on everything _inside_.

   Exactly as I'd thought the mountains were.

   The string of mountains in which Three Peak was included stretched out right and left, as far as the eye could see.

   So, that was the mountain range–right and left. 

   Behind me, so many miles behind me, or backwards, were the sunny valleys.

   And before me, down down until it's misty bottoms, lay a whole new world.

   The Three Peak and it's mountain range stretched out in a straight line. There was another mountain range _across_ from it.

   But this mountain range _across_ from it wasn't like any mountain range I'd ever seen yet. It had a flat top. All along the horizon, almost along my eye level, existed another Great Plain; level ground, and yet, it was on top of a mountain.

   I didn't know it yet, but that kind of landform was called a plateau.

   Sorry, really, but I haven't taken any Geography classes.

   And in between this mountain range and that plateau, was a whole new world of valleys and more valleys; forest, and woodland and plain. Rivers and streams criss-crossed the land. 

   It was like a cup, a bowl, a deep, deep valley sunk between the mountain ranges. Over to my right, I could just make out where the Three Peak mountain range ended and the start of the slope of the plateau began. In between, was a small gap where I could guess the river flowed through. Over to my left, same thing.  And Three Peak's mountain range, the one I was standing on right now, rose up before it like a wall, protecting it from humans and intruders.

   Ahead, there was a tiny glimmer in the distance that suggested that there might be a waterfall.

   That made sense. Two sources of water, one flowing from the river on the plateau and coming down in a waterfall, and the other a river winding it's way through the deep valley, feeding streams and creeks and brooks.

   It was beautiful, filled with sunshine and birdsong and flowers.

   It was peaceful and calm. No humans! No predators! Well, not that I know of…yet. But it looked safe enough.

   But this was not the place Golden was talking about.

   Obviously, I hadn't gone through any Ibexes to get here. And this was not a straight cliff face; Three Peak sloped down gradually. Sure there was a waterfall in the distance, but Golden hadn't said anything about a plateau. And I was sure that she would have told me if there was.

   Now I had two choices.

   I could either go down this slope, and begin to explore the land below, or I could go back where I came from and continue looking for Mother.

   I wanted to go down. I wanted to claim this whole beautiful basin mine.

   But I knew I couldn't. Deep down inside, I knew I couldn't.

   So, I turned and left.

   But I looked over my shoulder at the dip in the rock that was one of the easy entrances to the place and promised myself that one day, I would go back again.

   Now I saw the Three Peak mountain ranges in a whole new perspective. It was a thick belt, very thick, that curved around in a somewhat half-moon shape. In between was the deep valley I had just seen. Across that valley was the plateau. But this mountain range itself was wide _across_. And on this mountain range itself, there were more little nooks tucked away inside, more little valleys, more little cracks to be discovered.

   This mountain range was like Swiss cheese, not because it was like a triangle, but because it had small holes.

   Those holes are the places I'm talking about. 

   So, Golden's valley must be one of those holes.

   The only problem was that, in a Swiss cheese, there are a lot of holes. And on this mountain range, there were even more.

   Two days after I left the deep valley basin, it started to snow.

   Lightly at first. 

   Tiny ice flakes came down and settled on me. At first, they melted at once. But soon, the flakes became bigger, and a slow stream of water was flowing of me.

   But by night, it had become 'heavily'.

   I didn't bother to shake the snow off anymore, because once I did, more snow would begin to pile up anyhow. And this might make good camouflage.

   As a golden horse, I was pretty conspicuous in black-and-white rock and snow surroundings.

   Well, I couldn't just stand there and be a snow statue.

   I set off to find shelter.

   The trail I was on now was wide. Very wide. In some other places, it was even wider, wider than the track at home. It curved away behind me, twisting, turning, zigzagging it's course through this mountain. I couldn't see what was ahead.

   This mountain was not Three Peak. I had left Three Peak yesterday.

   But just ahead, there was a dark shape coming up that might be a cave.

   _But_ it could be the cave of a cougar or something else I definitely do not want to meet when I am in a snowstorm, covered with snow from head and foot, and hopelessly lost.

   I gritted my teeth and moved past the cave, hoping to find another one.

   Around the turn–whoa.

   The trail ended in space. It made a wide circle, almost a platform, and it ended in space.

   I'd been leaning forward, against the wind. But now, I rocked backward, trying not to look at what was happening to the rocks and pebbles my hooves and sent clattering down the slope.

   Okay…no choice, have to go back. I didn't have to worry about falling unless I intentionally did it, because as long as I hugged the rock wall, there was still enough space for several horses all strung out across the trail. If it could be called a trail. So, I could rule out death by falling. 

   More likely, I would consider death by freezing.

   The air was already chilly, and in the places where snow had melted it's way off my back, it stung.

   The cave again. I could go back down, past it in hopes of finding another cave, but I hadn't seen any on my way up, so unless caves magically appear and disappear, I would have to get to more level ground before I came across more shelter.

   And I was pretty sure I was going to become an ice cube long before that.

   I would just have to take the risk.

   The cave was bigger than me. It's smooth stone walls rose up and curved over my head.

   My hooves clip-clopped on the stone floor as I made my way inside.

   The cave was warm. Well, not _warm_, exactly, but still warmer than outside.

   It was a wide cavern, narrowing down in the far end. It didn't stop there. That narrowed end was still big enough for me to squeeze through.

   But right now, exhausted, hungry, and cold, I didn't want to know what was in there.

   The main chamber of the cave was wide enough for me to turn around in a circle and lie down stretching out.

   I didn't lie down. Horses don't lie down when sleeping. Well, some* do, but most don't. They can't sleep for more than 5 minutes on the ground, because it makes breathing uncomfortable.

   Another reason why I didn't want to lie down: I didn't want to wake up in the middle of the night nose to nose with a very angry, very surprised cougar who'd just come rushing in through the snow and the wind into his home to find a huge horse stretched out on the floor, snoring away.

   I don't snore. And I couldn't find any smell of cougars.

   But if there was any predator who'd come inside, I wanted to meet it standing up.

   Sort of like humans not wanting to fight sitting down.

   Better be safe than sorry.

   I dozed through the night. 

   By morning, sunlight was streaming in through what was left of the cave entrance that hadn't been covered up with snow.

   It promised a bright day. 

   I started pawing through the snow. 

   Almost an hour later, I was still there, pawing through the snow.

   Finally, I gave up, trotted to the end of the main chamber, turned, and charged full out.

   The blocked up entrance gave way at first contact. I fell through, throwing back my weight to keep from sliding off the cliff.

   I slowed and looked around. It was just what I'd expected: sunny day, with everything sheer rock and solid ice, with a layer of snow on top, glittering and shining. 

   The place was beautiful.

   Cold and forbidding, it was beautiful at the same time. Still and silent, the cliffs rose up around me, reflecting the sunlight; the air was cold and clear. It stung my nostrils as I breathed in deeply.

   I stood for a long time admiring it, feeling like an intruder upon this peaceful silence, this quiet calm. I didn't want to move; the mountains had cast a spell on me and I didn't want to break it. I stood there, drinking in the sight, my eyes moving over miles upon miles of this mountain range.

   It must have been hours later before I forced myself to turn my back on everything and go.

   I nearly stepped on the horse before I saw it. All I could see was a black hoof sticking out of a mound of white, and maybe the tips of a tail. Holding my breath, I began pawing away the snow gently.

   It was lying against the rock wall. That was why I hadn't noticed it before. In the dark, and covered with snow, I'd just thought it was a rock. It must have been there a long time, the snow and ice preserving it, keeping scavengers from finding it.

   I went around the back and pawed off more snow.

   It was a mare.

   A cold sense of dread began creeping up my stomach. Chills began running down my spine.

   She was pure black, lying on her side with her legs stretched out, her mane spread in wave upon wave of shining silkiness, spilling over her neck and face.

   I went up front and brushed the mane away from the mare's face.

   She was beautiful. Her eyes were closed, as if she was just sleeping, her lips curved gently in a peaceful smile, her whole profile radiating dignity and nobility. 

   My eyes fell on the diamond. Then, I wished I hadn't seen it. 

   Along with the white diamond stamped on her forehead, the perfect white diamond that I'd remembered so well, reality stamped in my mind something I absolutely refused to believe.

   I pressed my nose on the mare's cold stiff neck and let the tears flow.

   If only my crying would awaken her. If only my tears would trickle down her body and wash away the cold stiffness of Death and bring her back to life.

   No. She was not dead. There must be a lot of pure black mares with perfect white diamonds running around in these mountains, and this could be just one of those. So what if she just looked a lot like Mother? That didn't mean Mother was dead. If a twin died, it's living twin wasn't considered dead just because he or she looks like the other twin that died.

   I wished she could come back to life so I could ask her who she was, so I could be sure.

   But I knew. Deep inside, even though I didn't want to believe it, I knew.

   Sadness filled me. Grief and rage and anger, all boiled and churned and mixed up together came pouring into me. But most of all came the sadness, the pang of loss, the sadness that I would never hear her laugh or speak to me or see her run with the wind in her mane again. _Ever_.  

   I reared and brought my hooves crashing down on the rock face. I reared again and again, taking out my anger and sadness on the rock.

   Ice came crashing down. I dodged out of the way and turned the corner.

   Out on the wide platform ending in open space, I reared and screamed my grief out for the world to hear.

   That wasn't enough. I leapt off the platform, not caring if I would die, not caring where I would land, just knowing that Mother was dead, Mother was gone, and everything I'd worked for, all my hopes that I would come home and find her, everything that I'd done; all the escapades, the whole journey west– _everything_–had gone to waste. 

   I hit land with a jarring thud. I didn't care. I took off again, running, leaping, crashing through thorny bushes and rock and snow, all the while screaming in my mind, _She's not dead! She's not dead!_

   I was running from the pain. I'd been running from humans; I'd escaped. I'd run from other horses; I'd won the races.

   But you can't outrun pain. It stays with you, mile after mile, and no matter how long you run, how fast you run, it stays with you.

   I didn't know for how long I ran. I didn't know where I was going, where I was headed. Bushes scratched me; tangled my tail; I ran into rocks and snow and more rocks and snow. I ran as fast as I could until everything became a blur, until all that I was aware of were the voice in my head, arguing _Yes, She's dead! No she isn't! Face reality! She's dead! No she isn't!_

   I ran until I was tired. Not just plain tired. Whopping, knees-buckling tired.

   And then I stopped.

   It was just like what had happened when Sandstorm died. Now the rage was spent, all that was left was the pain. Sadness. Grief. It was like there was a hollow inside me which had leaked out all the anger and was now filled with pain.

   I staggered and leaned against the rock wall. I was leagues away from the cave and the platform and…Mother.

   Something was bubbling beside me. It was a brook. 

   I stood there for a long, long time, just watching the rippling water, wishing that it could sweep away the past, wishing that I'd never found her, and yet glad at the same time that I had. Now I wouldn't have to walk around for the rest of my life wondering where Mother was.

   It was singing. The brook was singing something I'd never heard before and didn't understand, and yet at the same time, deep inside, I knew exactly what it meant.

   It was saying, _Let it go. Let it go…_

   The brook couldn't sweep away the past. But the pain could go. That was it. I had to learn how to let go. I stood for hours, watching the brook, letting it wash away the pain and sadness, until all that was left was the hollow feeling inside.    

   I stood for hours until almost all the pain was gone and there was just this numb feeling left.

   Then, I went back.

   I found the place again. I took the body with me, until I found a place not far, where the view was breath-taking. I dragged and rolled rocks to cover it, then piled snow and more snow over the body.

   There was another reason why I had chosen that place. It was quiet. It was peaceful. But the real reason why I chose this place was because it was high up, where it would always be cold, where the snow would never melt, where the air was so thin I was almost gasping. The cold would preserve the body. It would stay untouched for as long as…I don't know…for a _very_ _very_ long time.

   I covered the body with rocks piled snow on top, packed down the ice, filled up every little nook and cranny.

   Then, I stood up to admire my work.

   With the rocks and the snow, scavengers would never find her. Other animals would never find her. No one came up to this place. Here, she would rest in peace, undisturbed.

   Golden would have been proud. Underneath all that rock and ice, Mother was lying with her head pointing to the north, to the open range, her hooves in the galloping gait, forever running with the wind and the snow, running free forever.

   I bowed my head and left.

  

   The next several days were spent wandering around, doing nothing, just remembering, reliving every moment I'd had with her. I recalled every single memory I had of Mother and I relived them. 

   The second snowstorm hit. It was heavier than the first.

   Driving winds. Small ice balls. Snow in flurries, snow in rushes, snow that pelted me and piled up on my back.

   This one was bad. If I didn't find shelter soon, I could slip, run into something, or fall to my death in a place I can't even see.

   I bowed my head against the wind and walked on.

   The snow was knee-deep and still rising.

   Soon, I was reduced to trudging. Taking a step at a time, fighting the wind threatening to blow me off my feet.

   My mane was frozen stiff with ice that had melted and frozen and melted and frozen dozens of times. Ice crystals were encrusted on my eyelashes and mouth. The tips of my ears and nose were numb. Every breath I took sliced through my throat like a knife. My mouth was dry.

   I just wanted to go to sleep. But going to sleep would mean never waking up again. 

   Yeah. Maybe that was it.  Maybe life was meaningless. Mother gone…no place here…and I would never go back to the humans…

   My eyes were almost closing. Eyelids…heavy…so heavy…hooves…even heavier…

   Then, my right foot sank into nothingness. I pitched forward and pulled it back just in time. That certainly woke me up. I stood and watched as the snow on my back went sliding off, expecting to see it hit the far bottom of the gorge, shaking with the realization that that would have been me if I hadn't pulled back. 

   Only it didn't.

   I mean, the snow did fall, but instead of hitting the gorge a long way down, it just went _Whumph_! on what must have been a ledge below. 

   Ledge. Maybe it led to shelter.

   So, I closed my eyes and jumped blindly, praying that I hadn't seen an illusion, that there really was a ledge.

   My hooves hit with a jarring thud. 

   I rocked and steadied. And discovered that this wasn't really a ledge, or what you would call a ledge.

   It was a tiny trail, that just ended under the dead-end, curving to meet the rock wall. I glanced upward to see where I had been standing before.

   This wasn't so bad. At least the wind was blowing over my head. I shook off the new pile of snow and followed the trail.

   It wound its way, following the rock wall for a time before straightening itself. It led under tall, overhanging cliffs jutting out high above my head.

   There was even less snow here. The wind came gently, making the skeletons of thorny bushes beside me rattle, whistling through the passage.

   I followed the trail. What choice did I have? 

   Ahead, it opened to a  wider spot that was following the rock wall again. It curved down gradually, almost like a ramp.

   And–whoa! A cave! Without pausing to think, I dashed inside.  

   Before I'd even thawed out, I was asleep.

   Sunrise. The light was almost blinding.

   I woke up feeling light. 

   I was snow-free! 

   For the first time in days, there wasn't a load of ice on my back!

   I set off to explore.

   This place was a whole different place. Smooth round walls rising up, almost level with each other and going down smoothly to the valley floor. Triangle Trees, with their pointy tops and their crunchy cones (not that I would eat them grew on the slopes all around. The valley floor was smooth. _Round_. 

   This valley was almost oblong. Trees on the sides. A river that led out of the cliff walls. And feeding the river–yeah! A waterfall!

   I dashed to see. I'd never been this close to a waterfall before.

   The water was frozen. It rushed down in swirling currents, in a foaming mass.

   I closed my eyes and imagined it during summertime. The roar wouldn't be that loud, since this was just a small waterfall. But droplets would spray out. The water would bee cool, delicious. Sweet.

   Beside the waterfall, there was a way up. I climbed it.

   The path ended just beside the waterfall. Up here, there were more trees, almost like a forest, hiding this little valley from view. I stood beside the start of the frozen waterfall and looked down on the little valley tucked away in the mountains. 

   This valley wasn't small. Not _that_ big, but still big enough to support a good-sized herd of horses.

   I stood facing the valley, my head in the direction from where I'd come from last night, and I studied everything.

   Trees ringed the place. And instead of the river cutting away in a straight line through the heart of the valley as I'd imagined, it twisted away from the pool beneath the waterfall, veering to the left, hugging the tree-line, leaving a good, nice, wide-open space to my right.

   How could Golden call this place little? The open plain to the right of the river alone was already one and a half-times bigger than Fleetfoot's meadow.

   Wha–what was I thinking? I had no proof that this was what Golden had been talking about.

   But come to think of it, if this wasn't the place, then it sure looked a lot like it. And recalling, remembering how I'd gotten here–yeah!

   I'd jumped down and landed on a ledge…that must be the Ibex and I didn't even know it! Follow the trail…yeah, it led through overhanging cliffs.

   This was it! 

   I felt a surge of happiness, the first trace of happiness in days since I'd found Mother.

   My hooves followed the trail down again. Now I was facing the waterfall, the valley behind me, the river now to my right, the plain to my left.

   Speaking of the waterfall…wasn't it that moving water never froze in winter? But this waterfall and the river was…

   Then again…maybe not. I trotted to the waterfall and hit it with a hoof. The ice cracked and a small hole, even smaller than my hoof, appeared. At first, nothing happened. Then, a stream of water, a tiny spurt, shot out and hit me on the nose.

   I jumped backward, my nose stinging. The water was still spurting out, and I guess would go on doing that until the waterfall thawed… or the ice err… melted…

  But I was thirsty. Melting snow would be a good idea, But that would take a long time. 

   I looked at the spray again. My mouth opened automatically. The jet of water hit the back of my mouth. I swallowed and let it run down my throat.

   The water was icy, bitingly icy. But it was also clean and sweet. In summer, it would be delicious.

   Summer. In summer, with this place blooming with wild flowers and the river bubbling quietly and sunshine and birdsong filling the valley, this would be beautiful.

   And no one was here. I didn't have to fight anybody to take this place.

   It was all mine.

   I'd found a new home.

   I went back, out of the valley, back the way I came last night. I climbed the cliff opposite the Ibex and studied it.

   Now I could see why it was called the Ibex. Golden had said there were three rocks.

   There were three rocks. One of the, what she had called the Ram's Head, jutted out to space, narrowing down to a sharp point. The two other rocks, the Ram's Horns, stood upward, pointing outward.

   The tiny ledge was just below the Ram's Head.

   I named it the Ram's Mouth.

   Hey, if that's the Ram's Head, with the Ram's Horns and the Ram's Mouth, why was it called the Ibex?

   Oh well. Whatever… 

   I didn't go back inside.

   Instead, I set off. Southward.

   It had taken me weeks, more than a month, maybe, to find the Ibex, what with all the wandering around and the finding of things that were necessary and unnecessary. But now, with the way more familiar, I found Three Peak and got back down to the Southlands in less than a week.   

   But during that time, I'd found a reason for staying. It had come to me when I stood on the ledge on Three Peak, overlooking the Southlands, when I'd been watching a distant speck of gray galloping in his valley.

   Thunder didn't know I was watching him.

   I didn't mean him any harm. It was just that, standing there, with everything spread out before me, an idea had entered my head.

   Yes. Why not?

   After all, that was what all stallions do when they come of age: gather a herd and get a territory.

   I already had my territory.

   All I needed was a herd.

   I didn't waste any time. I wanted to go and be back here before winter truly arrived. And this was already the start of it.

   That afternoon found me clopping my way down Three Peak. By nightfall, I'd reached Fleetfoot's valley.

   Fleetfoot saw me. I dipped my head and asked to speak with Golden.

   I told her that I'd found everything I'd set out to find and more: the valley, Mother, the Great Plateau with the deep basin between it and these mountain ranges.

   Her head drooped sadly. But she didn't run and run as I did, or rear and scream like I had done.

   Her head just dropped and a deep sadness came into her eyes, one that unlike ebbing away and leaving a bitter trail like mine, would stay with her for the rest of her life. 

   "You don't understand. You lost a mother. I lost my best friend. I lost my sister." 

   At least I knew how it felt.

   "Don't cry. I lost my best friend too."

   Her eyes widened as she looked up. 

   "Yeah. When I was away from here, when the humans had me, I found another best friend. I had two best friends for a while. One is Thunder. This is the other one. Then, this friend died." 

   Her voice was soft. "How did he die?"

   "He was killed. By a monster."

   "I'm sorry." 

   "I'm sorry too. I'll always miss her. But at least she died the way she wanted to do: not in the clutches of the humans, but out in the open range."

   Golden nodded, her eyes fixed on a faraway place.

   "I'm going south again."

   That got her attention. 

   "What?! Why? I thought you hated humans!"

   "I do. But there's something…no, someone…I left behind."

   Golden's face broke into a slow smile. 

   "And you're going away to bring her back?"

   "Yea–wait! How did you know it was a _her_?"

   "I'm old, Spirit. I've seen the look on your face when you talked about her many many times before not to recognize it now. You see, that was also the look on you mother's face when she talked about Northlight."

   I shook my head, speechless.

   "Make sure you bring her to meet me when you do." Her brown eyes were still sad, though right now, they were twinkling at me as she trotted away.

   She was getting farther and farther away. Her voice came floating back up to me. 

   "And make sure you do come back!"

A/N: * One well-known horse who slept lying down is (drumroll please) Seabiscuit. Yeah, the unremarkable-looking horse who lost nearly every time he ran in his two year old season, and climbed up the ladder to become Horse of the Year. He beat War Admiral in a match race, and War Admiral, the legendary son of Man O' War had won the Triple Crown. 

   National Geographic showed a special featuring Seabiscuit on its _Saturday Unlimited_ show, and they interviewed people like Red Pollard's (Seabiscuit's jockey; he broke his leg three times; yeouch) daughter, Norah, and the Seabiscuit book's author, Laura Hillenbrand. (If I got the spellings of the names wrong, kindly point out any mistakes I made and I'll correct them. Thanx! J  Or, as they say, TY!)   

Timeline (just thought this might be helpful, since the story gets a little bit confusing when the horse isn't in the human world and you can't exactly follow the human calendar):

         The Belmont is run in early July, if I'm not mistaken. 

          Spirit was stolen a little over two weeks after he won it.

          He spent over a month in the trailer, which makes it about late August, by the time he escaped. Another month passed, which makes it about late September or early October, and then he saw the Three Peak mountain ranges. 

         A little over two weeks later(early-mid-October), he reached his home meadow. A few days with Thunder and Golden, and two more weeks later, he found the Great Plateau. (Late October or early November.) Two days after that, he found Bella.

           3-4 days and he found the valley Golden was talking about.

          A week later(mid-November), he sets out South.

   Sorry this last chapter is a bit confusing and monotonous–this is there and that is there–but I needed to describe the landscape. So that I won't have to do it later on. I promise this is the first and the last that says "Oh the plateau is blah blah blah" etc. I hope…

   Ok, I know this chapter is a little…unbelievable. I mean, snow in November? But that happened in the high mountains, so it just might have snowed a little earlier than the lowlands… bear with me anyway. By the way, when does it start snowing in the US? I won't know…I've never been through a winter, much less seen real snow…probably because I live somewhere near the equator where people get barbecued everyday…regular or spicy? Just joking :…

   Anywayz, hope ya like it!


	19. Racing Winter

Disclaimer:  The Black isn't mine.

A/N: The copper araibian– what horse? Oh okay…in the trailer…umm…there never was another horse in the trailer with Spirit. It was just a one-room trailer remember? One horse, one human, and their stuff. If you're talking about the horse Spirit saw or the whinny Spirit heard when he was under chloroform(a kind of anesthetic used back in the '30's; used by the two robbers because they wanted something quick and easy to put Spirit to sleep, and didn't know how to use injections) yeah, that was Moon, but the last he saw of her was when she was back in the stable, and the whinny he heard before he blacked out.

   About the black paint–Good point. Thanks for bringing that up. Wow, I never even noticed it wasn't there. I've added a bit to Chapter 16 so other people won't have to wonder how Spirit went from black to gold again without so much as a mention of getting the paint washed off. It's near the last, right after the part where it says "…woods and plains and woods and plains again. How many deep streams I forded, how many rivers I swam, I never bothered to count." Etc.  Thanx ! 

If you guys find any more mistakes, please tell me so I can correct them. Thanx, and thanx again!

Chapter 18

   It had taken me almost four months (July–mid-October) –okay just over three months–to get from my human home to my real home.

   But that had included a nice big bit of aimless wandering, not knowing where to go. 

   Now that I knew my way around, it would save a lot of time.

   The downside was, I'd traveled in a van for a month, half the time it took to get home.

   And vans can go all day at maximum speed.

   Horses can't.

   If I hoped to come back west before winter ended, which was about three, four months from now, it would take a lot–almost a miracle if I were to make it.

   Oh well. 

   It was dark when I started out. Two days of steady galloping alternating with trotting when I got tired and I was past the place where I met Northlight's friend.

   For the next two full moons, I retraced the way I'd taken back East, walking, running, trotting, anything–just always moving. 

   I found the road and began following it.

   But it would take me forever to reach home by foot. So I looked for another way out.

   Two days later, I found it.

   It was night. I'd been standing hidden in a grove of trees far enough from the road so that nobody would see me, but near enough so that I would hear what the humans were saying.

   A huge truck came trundling down the road, turned out to the grass, and stopped.

   The wind came, wafting along a smell of horses. 

   Humans got out of the truck, went around to the other side of the cab, and began examining something. I sneaked out of the trees and right alongside the trailer.

   It was an open-air trailer; all that was between me and the horses were bars of steel. The top of the thing was covered with a kind of cloth to keep out the rain. Or in this weather, snow

   On closer look, the horses weren't horses at all, but ponies. Small, clean-limbed ponies with ragged manes and tails.

   "Ponies!" I said in a hoarse whisper.

   Their ears perked up and they came around this side. Thirteen pairs of shining eyes met mine, thirteen intelligent heads bobbed, thirteen soft noses snuffled my face. They swept their noses over me and bobbed their heads some more.

   "Ahh," they said in unison. "A wild one."

   One of them, a gray mare, stepped forward. 

   "Do not try to make us escape, like the last herd of wild ones did, wild one. Their stallion told us to beware, that we were going to a terrible place, where we would be controlled by hard metal sticks, hit with strips of leather, and be kicked by young human children. He told us we'd better escape now. We know all that, and we do not fear. We also know that not all humans treat us that way. We know of sunny places where we are free to run, of red apples, of delicious white cubes. We know the joy of gentle hands stroking our coats and of being loved and cared for."

   "Yes," I whispered back. "I know of sugar cubes too!"

   Now they were really interested. A slow, steady hum of voices murmured. "How do you know that, young wild one?"

   Something clunked. Fourteen heads swung in the direction of the humans.

   "Let me inside and I can tell you my story."

   The ponies glanced at one another. 

   I felt my stomach sinking as the gray mare shook her head. "We can't. The doors are locked. You must wait. They let us out by day. We do not run off and the humans leave us here while they take care of themselves. Wait until that time. Then mingle with us. The humans don't notice. One of us has slipped off and back, just to test the humans' reactions. They will not know. Then, you can come with us in here."

   "Where are you headed?"

   They murmured some more. A chestnut gelding lifted his head and stared me straight in the eye. "East. Someplace called Washington."

   A chorus of voices agreed with his.

   "Do you know if that is near Kentucky?"

   "Yesss…yesss…"They nodded.

   The chestnut gelding threw back his head. "Washington is just north of Kentucky. If that is where you are going, do not fear. You can always hear the humans talking. They mention the places we have passed, and the places we are going. They stop every day. You can get off anytime you want to."   

   "Thank you. Thank you!"   

   Shadows were walking back toward the truck.

   "Go!" The gray mare pushed her nose out from the bars. "The truck will run. Just follow the road ahead. You must get ahead of us, or we will overtake you. Just follow the road and don't stop, or you'll get left behind."

   The truck was revving up. The gelding stuck his nose out beside her. He had to yell to be heard above the noise. "Hurry!"

   He said something else. I didn't stop to listen. My hooves thudded as I raced back to the grass and began to gallop. 

   Yeah, that made sense. Those ponies were wise. Get ahead, then wait for them, instead of waiting first, then running after them.

   I kept away from the road, but followed it, going east.

   Finally, when I'd run my fastest for a good bit and tired, I slowed. It was still dark, but the sky was getting that gray-tinged look that practically screamed that dawn was approaching. 

   It is dangerous to be seen by daylight.

   When the next car came whizzing up, I dove into the trees.

   Whew. Then I discovered a problem.

   As long as there were trees, I had someplace to run into.

   But now the trees ended. Wide, open plain began.

   And as a golden horse on a dusty, rusty background, I stood out like a black dot on a white page.

   There was a way. I ran to the edge of the trees and began pawing frantically. Then, with the grass gone and a big, wide grassless circle before me, I lay down and began to roll.

   When I rose up at last, I was unrecognizable. My coat was covered with dust, and every time I set down a hoof, small clouds of dust rose.

   I snorted, almost sneezed.

   Then, the truck rumbled past.

   Oh no.

   I didn't get dirty just for nothing. The truck was ahead. I shot out of the trees and began running after it.

   Midday. The truck drove off the road and stopped. As the ponies had said, the human made a wide round enclosure with rope and pieces of wood, opened the doors and let the ponies out.

   Then, they went up front.

   I showed myself as soon as the humans were gone.

   The chestnut gelding saw me first.

   "Come," he whinnied softly.

   I went. The ponies bunched together making an open area for me as I hopped in.

   At last, I could meet them. I snuffled their noses and got snuffles in return. And close up, they didn't look that small. I just stood a head taller than the biggest of them. 

   The gray mare appeared, the chestnut gelding by her side.

   "Welcome," she said softly. "I am Snow White. This is," she gave the gelding a half-glaring half-amused look–" my close friend and stable-mate, Coconut."

   The gelding snorted. "I don't like my name." He glared back at the mare, then grinned, bumped her with his head and moved away, weaving his through the mass of bodies grazing around.

   Even though they continued to glare at each other across the enclosure, I could tell they were very fond of each other.

   "We grew up together in the same field," Snow White whickered. "Now tell me your story."

   "I'll wait until we're inside the van. Are you sure the humans won't notice me here?"

   She shook her head. "Coconut sneaked out of the enclosure once. He cantered in a wide circle and the humans didn't even see."

   "Why are you going to Washington?"

   "We were bought from an auction. No one knew anybody at first. Coconut and I came as a pair. We're going to a stable north to be trained. For a riding school they say." 

   "Why don't you want to escape?"

   Snow White shook her head again. "It is difficult out in the wild. Scarce food, cold winters, driving winds, predators…" she shuddered.

   "The wild is beautiful. Green grass…wild flowers…rivers that go on for miles…"

   "All that in exchange for being afraid every moment because cougars are nearby? Never mind."

   "But out there, you'll have a stallion to protect you. And there is no one to control you, no one to make you do things you don't want to do…"

   " I sti–"

   We were interrupted by the humans coming out.

   Coconut appeared. "Try to do your best imitation of a mouse." He grinned. "_Then_ maybe they won't notice you. What have you been talking about?"

   Snow White nipped him. "You."

   His eyes widened in mock surprise. "Really?"

   "Yeah."

   He leaned close to me. "What did she tell you?"

   "I told him you were my very close and very annoying friend and stablemate. I told him we grew up together."

   She added in an undertone. "I also told him you have a corny sense of humor."

   Coconut jumped. "_What_?!"

   All this time, we were being herded inside. I listened tensely. If the humans noticed, I was going to have to make a break for it, instead of being caught.

   One of the humans did notice. He pointed at me and said, "Hey, where did this one come from? I thought they were only supposed to be thirteen–"

   The other human cut him off. "Ah, shut up you oaf. And how many was they yesterday? Sixteen?" He laughed. "This 'un's always bee' there. Ya just 'aven't seen 'im, big 'as 'e 'is…" They laughed some more.

   He tapped the ropes. "Now git on you…go on…get inside"

   I breathed a sigh of relief and scurried inside quickly.

   The trailer was roomy. We could move around freely. Once inside, Snow White turned and raised her voice.

   "Brothers and sisters, we have a newcomer."

   "We've noticed," a dozen voices murmured. Chuckles broke out. One of the other raised his voice. "Specially since he's big, golden, looks every inch a Thoroughbred, not like a pony, and sticks out like a sore thumb."

   More chuckles. I laughed along.

   She turned to me. "Don't mind him. He has a brain but mostly doesn't use it to think about what he says before he actually says it."

   They laughed. I laughed.

   "So, wild one. Who are you and what are you doing here?"

   "My name is Spirit."

   "Spirit," thirteen voices said in unison.

   "I'm–well you've guessed it–a thoroughbred. But not a pure bred. My father was a wild one."

   "Ahh…Yess…" 

   "I was very young when I was caught by humans. I escaped."

   They sighed as one.

   The horse who'd raised his voice added, "So now you're going back again to show the humans how much you disliked them."

   Wow. He was fast. I didn't have to tell him how much I hated it there; he'd figured it out by himself. He used his head after all. 

   "No…not really…"

   The outspoken horse pushed to the front. He was a bright bay, very tall, his head almost to mine.

   His eyes moved over me. 

   "You've been traveling a long time. You are three years old…almost four, yes?" He lowered his voice so only Snow White, Coconut, and I could hear. "And you have been abused."

   Now I was shocked. "How did you know that?"

   "Your scar." He pushed away my mane with his nose and showed the gray mare and the chestnut gelding the scar on my neck. 

   "I was bitten," I said hurriedly, and pulled away. These ponies had good impressions of humans; I didn't want to destroy that.

   The bay horse's eyes were boring into my face. I was sure he could see right through me, could read my mind. I couldn't meet his steady gaze.

   "No," he said softly. "You lie."

   I felt the tips of my ears flare. "No…I mean–that is–"

   "I know. That was made by a whip. A length long, and a bit less than a human finger in thickness. Sharp-tipped end. Leather."

   He chanted it like he'd memorized it from a tack-shop catalog.

   I stared. "How did you know?"

   The tall bay horse moved even closer. " I know. Because I have one too."

   He half turned and showed me his flank. And there, on the bright bay skin, was a scar, shaped like mine, but cut bigger. Deeper.

   "Humans?"

   He nodded. "Of course. And that's why I keep telling these ponies to run loose while they still can." He cast a pointed look at Snow White and Coconut. "That wild stallion is right. Now you have evidence of what humans can do. We are living proof, both of us." His eyes were now boring into Snow White and Coconut.

   "Why don't _you_ run away?" I asked, curious.

   "I'm old. I don't look it But I am. And if I were to get free, I want to enjoy my freedom, not die off just a few days after I got loose."

   "Are you a wild one?"

   He shot me a look. "Of course not. But I know what it is like. My owner, before he sold me to the one who abused me, used to let me run wild for weeks at a time, when he wasn't riding me."

   "Why don't you and I escape together?"

   "No."

   "Why?"

   "I have reasons of my own." He was suddenly distant and cool as he moved away.

   I never dared ask him about it again.

   The next few weeks were spent living in the trailer with the ponies. But instead of hanging around Snow White and Coconut, I found myself strangely drawn to the Jack, the tall bay horse.

   Somehow, even though the other ponies were friendly, we didn't have much to talk about. And anyway, whenever I said something, they just kept on agreeing like they'd rehearsed it, or like they weren't really listening, bobbing their heads until you thought they would fall off their necks.

   Jack was different. A lot different.

   Maybe it was because he too had known the hurts of being in human hands. Maybe it was because he was abused, like me, and had a scar to show it too. Or maybe it was because he had this sharpness, this shrewdness, this ability to look at a horse and know his strengths and weaknesses almost at once, as he'd done with me. Or maybe it was because Jack didn't agree all the time, like the other ponies; he was opinionated, stating his stands on almost everything.

   I don't know. But whatever it was, I was soon standing beside him, talking away, not telling him anything about my life, but sharing opinions, what I thought about this and that, and hearing his own opinions by turn.

   He began to teach me some of his wisdom, some of his tricks.

   "There's always a reason for everything," he would say. "So, when I look at your scar, I think, 'What must have caused it?' Then I would look at it, and because it doesn't look like a horse's teeth did it, I would assume that humans did it. Add that clue to the fact that you become instinctively tense whenever the word 'whip' is mentioned, and bingo."

   I learned a lot more. It turned out that he knew a lot about the world, having traveled so much and met many horses. That was the reason he didn't have any close friends; when it was time to go, he didn't want to become emotionally attached. We grazed side by side when the humans let us out, we talked by day and dozed by night.

   The truck moved very fast, faster than the van I'd been put on after being stolen. And this truck drove day and night, with the humans taking turns, not like Boss and Yo, who had to wait until dark to make their moves.

   So, I calculated, I was moving approximately twice as fast, which would of course cut the time used in half.

   That was good. It meant more time for the journey back home. Since, on the way back west, I could no longer hope to find passage for two Thoroughbreds, more time would fit our schedule just fine.

   I was right. About two weeks later, while Jack and I were standing with our ears pressed against the steel wall where we could sometimes hear the humans speaking, I caught the word "Kentucky".

   We'd taken to doing that lately, after I'd suggested we started listening for signs that we were far east.

   "That's it," I told Jack excitedly. He bobbed his bay head. "I heard too."

   "So what do you think? Should I stay on further until we get near the place where I get off, or should I go now?"

   He shrugged. "If it were me, I'd suggest going now, because if you wait, you could overshoot and not find your way back to your farm. Assuming it was a farm," he added, eying me beadily.

   I sighed. "Okay, I didn't tell you everything. It was a racing stable."

   He chuckled. "I'd thought so. You are built like a racer. You were born to run."

   "How do you know?"

   "My grand-dam was a racer too. And when I was young, I was pretty fast myself, though not as fast as racers are, of course."

   "Oh. Okay…"

   We planned my escape carefully. Jack gathered the whole truckload of ponies around us and told us his plan. It was simple but brilliant, just like Jack; during their morning out, they would cause a diversion while I got away.

   "We will help you, but do not persuade us to go with you, because we will not. We are bound by the–" Snow White began.

   "Yes I know," I interrupted politely, cutting short what would have been a long lecture on human kindness again.

   Afterwards, Jack and I talked again. We talked until it was nearly time for me to go. "Can you tell me why you're going east?" he asked me. I opened my mouth. 'Aside from going back to annoy the humans," he added quickly.

   The humans came running back here. The gate scraped open and we scrambled off the truck one by one and into the rope-and-sticks paddock.

   "Ummm…I–I…" How could I say this without sounding stupid?

   He wasn't listening. He was watching the humans walk farther and farther away.

   "Okay. Good, we don't need a diversion after all." He raised his voice. "Plan cancelled!" 

   "_What_?! But I thought–"

   "Go now. Before they notice. We'll cover up for you when they come back."

   "_Now_?!"

   "_Yes_, _now_!"

   The ponies formed a half-circle and pressed closer to me.

   "But I thought we'd wait a few more days–"

   They were coming closer still, Jack at their head.

   "No! We'll be passing through human farms by tomorrow! You'll be seen."

   "I ha–"

   "_Now_!" Jack looked dangerous. The ponies' noses were almost touching my coat.

   What choice did I have? I hopped out of the enclosure and began cantering away.

   "Take care now, you hear?" Snow White.

   "Good luck!" Coconut.

   Then, to my amazement, Jack hopped out too. I stopped for him.

   "You've changed you mind and decided to come with me?" I asked hopefully. We weren't really _that_ close yet…but I already thought of him as a friend.

     "No. I just remembered something. This truck will be going along this exact road in a month, bringing back the remaining ponies who weren't sold. We'll be following the same old road west. There'll be room for two more horses." He grinned at me.

   "Wha–why are you telling me–"

   "Bye, kiddo!"

   He touched my nose, then spun around and began trotting back to the ponies.

   I shook my head, amazed, confused, and started for the nearest trees.

   Hours later as I trotted and cantered along, not daring to go faster for fear of slipping, I was still wondering how Jack had known.

   He was only teasing when he said I was going back to annoy the humans. 

   Of course…Jack was smart…a lot smarter than Snow White or Coconut gave him credit for…

   He'd known. I was sure of that. He'd known what I was going to do.

   He'd figured out what I'd planned to do, and he'd told me the truck was coming back, because he knew we were also going back west…

   But as the day wore on and the cold intensified, I turned my thoughts away from him and focused on not slipping.

   The countryside was changing. Mountains were now a distant memory; trees were few and becoming fewer, and it was back to grass, grass, and more grass.

   Good thing horses don't get tired of grass.

   I reached my first human settlement by sunset. 

   It was a tiny farm, with just an acre of fenced grass, and two shaggy ponies standing heads-to-tails, huddled, looking as if they were glued together. 

   I didn't stop to say hello.

   The farms grew bigger, and there were more horses and humans the farther I went on.

   I took to staying in trees, watching, then making a break for the next shelter when humans weren't watching.

   And don't bother to count the stares I got from the horses and ponies when I would hop the fence, dash across their field, and disappear around the other end.

   Humans saw me once. I was halfway across a field when a young human girl crossing her yard noticed me and stopped. 

   I hadn't panic, though cold dread had filled my stomach. I hadn't gone crazy and go yelling, "I've been seen! I've been seen!"

      I'd stopped too, inching over to the horses huddled together with their heads down, standing perfectly still.    

   Fortunately, there had been a golden chestnut with a coat color very much like my own, and she must have mistook me for her. It had been dusk, and the light wasn't good.

   I'd let out a breath when the human girl dismissed it and went inside the house.

   The horses had been bunched together, eyeing me with mistrust, when a very cranky-looking mare had come charging up to me and demanded to know what I was doing in their field. I'd just replied, "Sorry ladies," bobbed my head, and was off again.

   But I had to stop for directions. So I watched and waited.

   My chance came during the near evening of the third day after I left the truck, when I spotted a horse being led into a stable.

   The horse looked very much like a racer, so he might have heard of Oakwood Acres.

   I spoke with the horse. He did know of O.A. In fact, he said, "Everybody knows about that place these days. Follow that road–" he gestured " and you'll reach it after two more days, I think."

   A door banged open. I murmured my thanks and hurried off.

   The human saw me. That was my second sighting.

   He'd yelled, "Ey! Wotcha doin' 'ere?!" and come stomping toward me.

   With no herd of horses to blend into, I fled into the night.

   But I was sure now that this human would do something about me.

   I was right. In the next place I stopped for directions, the occupants of the field saw me and one of them immediately said, "You're that runaway horse, aren't you? Better be careful if ya don't wanna be caught; a human saw you, and now he's got a lot of other humans looking for you, trying to catch you."

   I found out what I wanted to know, thanked them, and left, tense and nervous.

   Now, with even more houses and fields and humans and horses, I didn't dare to even cross fields or go anywhere by daylight.

   The horse was right. In every farm I came to humans were constantly going about, shielding their eyes from the sunlight, and looking to the far distance.

   That made things harder.

   Not that they weren't hard enough.

   Luckily, I found the stream, and relying on the assumption that this one fed the stream in the line of trees in our meadow, followed it all the way.

   I wish I could say that I traveled in a straight line, found Oakwood Acres instantly, and the end.

   Unfortunately, I'd be lying if I say so. It's been said 'Liars go to hell'. And I've had enough experience here on earth to know that I won't like it if I went.

   Truth is, I found the place by accident.

   Now, there's nowhere saying honest horses go to heaven but still…

   What I could take credit for was that my guess was right: this stream did eventually lead to the woods bordering our old paddock.

   The break in the snow-laden-trees came quite suddenly.

   And I stopped. 

   I'd traveled for months just to get to this place. But now I stopped.

   What should I do? _What would I say to her?_ Should I stand here and become an ice Popsicle, or should I go and find her?

   In the end, it was neither that I did.

   I stepped out of the trees boldly.

   No one stampeded; they would have been idiots to do so in this ice-frozen world.

   But they stared. And I stared back, stared at the faces of the four young horses standing there, breaths coming out in puffs of vapor.

   What should I say? "Hello, young 'uns!"?

   They were wearing blankets. But that didn't have anything to do with anything.

   I cleared my throat nervously. "Do you–do you know where the three-year-olds are kept?"

   They looked like ice statues. One of them still had his hoof half-way in the air where he'd been scratching it on the fence post.

   A filly was the first to find her voice. "They're…umm…I don't–_we_ don't know…" she said hastily, glancing around at her companions and nudging them pointedly.

   "We're new here; the trainer just bought us last week and…" Another filly trailed off.     

   "And we don't know anything about this place yet…" The first filly finished.

    Ok, that did present a problem…

   The two other fillies didn't seem to have unfrozen yet.

   "We umm…do know where the yearlings are kept…" The second filly added hopefully.

   Oh yeah, sure, that was a lot of help…

   The first filly began. "We also know where the stables ar–"  

   I wasn't going to listen to the both of them list whatever they _did_ know. "I know where the stables are," I snapped, suddenly feeling irritable.

   They looked surprised. "Oh…uh…you do? Then do you know where–"

   Why do I bother?

   I remembered to count to ten, shook my head then disappeared back into the trees.

   Okay. That had been the paddock where Fire Phoenix and Moon Dancer and Marionette had stayed in.

   And if I remembered correctly, the paddock beside them had been empty, unless an invisible horse had been standing there.

   _My_ paddock. My throat closed remembering the days I'd spent in it.

   And now it was empty.

   Suddenly, I was brimming over with questions, where before I hadn't known what to do.

   Were Marionette and Fire Phoenix and Sir Peppero still there? Was Sims still the trainer? Was Chaya still jockey? _Did Moon still remember me?_

   There had to be other horses _somewhere_.

   Finally, I took the risk of being seen, went out of the woods and started up the familiar path.

   Human activity was virtually zero. Of course. This was in the middle of winter. They would be sitting inside in their queer human chairs, warming themselves with their electronic heaters (for those who don't know what heaters are, they are small electronic suns that give off warmth but do not give off heat. Though I've never actually seen one, it doesn't hurt your eyes to look at heaters the way it does when you squint at sunlight. And I've heard rumors that if you go near enough one, you will be roasted alive.)

   Most of the fields were deserted. Of course. Most of the horses would be inside their stables.

   Then I came to the end of the path and the start of the yard where I'd stepped out so many mornings before wearing a bridle and saddle, ready to run.

   And I stopped dead.

   Appalled.

   What had once been magnificent, gleaming barns and stables were now standing desolately, their paint chipped and flaking. The wind came and wafted along with it a bad smell of manure and hay. 

   That stable hadn't been mucked out clean. 

   The feed room was beside it. I looked in through the glass window and saw where once before were metal bins full to the brim with bran and grain and oats were now near or half empty. Hay bales were thrown haphazardly about, and one had burst its ropes and was now lying scattered about the wooden floor.

   I drew back, unnerved. 

   The tack room wasn't far. I ambled over, dreading what I was about to see.

   The rows of racing and riding saddles and bridles, each lovingly washed, each squeaky clean, gleaming with excellent care, were now replaced by a row of the same saddles, some cracked, some missing from their places, others dull and stiff-looking.

   Now I pulled away and went back to one of the barns. A dog was sitting there where there hadn't been one before.

   Oh. _Him_. The dog who'd been bought to guard me in the first place.

   He stared at me with dull eyes now, his ribs sticking out in his coat. 

   What had once been a excited quivering ball of energy full and bursting with life was now a sad little creature who had lost interest in everything.

   He didn't remember me anymore. Or if he did, he didn't show it. 

   I made to step past him. For a moment, his eyes gleamed with something which died down the next instant. He just put his head on his paws and whined.

   I felt apprehension leak away to be replaced with an overwhelming pity.

   The stable door wasn't even closed. The horses inside must be freezing.

   I pushed it open with my nose, stepping carefully over the dog. The painted sign that had proudly said 'Oakwood Acres' in green and gold paint was still there, though now it was swinging and squeaking in the wind.

   I passed through, amazed. This was the barn where the riding horses and others were kept. The stalls had been full of bright-eyed gleaming heads with intelligent pricked ears ready to give a gentle snuffle and receive a treat in return when I was here.

   The few horses inside now were not well-groomed, their coats dull instead of shining with health, their eyes empty with indifference. Water troughs smelled. Stray bits of straw littered the stone aisle.

   A feeling of fear was rising in me now. All the other barns were either almost empty or just like this one: unkempt, sad-looking.

   I went through the training barn last.

   This had been _my_ barn. _My_ home. 

   I passed through the empty stalls one by one, remembering who had stayed inside them, my mind brimming with happy memories.

   The one nearest the door but facing it…that stall had been mine. I stuck my head inside the half-door and smelled around.

   The smells were stale. It hadn't been occupied in a long time.

   The one across the aisle from it had been Moon's.

   _Moon_…

   Oh, how I longed to hear her voice again, to see that she was okay, to run with her through the grass–

   I stopped. The wooden half-door dug against my chest as I stopped before the stall next to mine, across the aisle from the one beside Moon's.

   This had been Sandstorm's stall.

   _Sandstorm_…

   A pang of pain cut through me sharper than any knife could ever have done.

   I forced myself to turn away. 

   All the other stalls were empty. I wandered through the stable where some of the fastest horses in the land had once lived in. 

   Once this barn had been alive with activity; grooms and jockeys bustling in and out, horses neighing, stamping hoofs, snorting heads, flashing eyes–it had been _alive_.  

   But now, the empty stalls stood gaping at me like tombstones, echoes of their owners lingering…

   I left quickly and headed for the fields again, trying not to give in to the heightened fear.

   Where was everybody? Where were all the horses? 

   I couldn't believe my eyes; Chaya or Dick wouldn't have let the horses stay out in the fields in such weather. But the barns were almost uninhabited…

   So where could they be?

   The fields were almost as desolate as the stables.

   Ah hah! The back meadow. The meadow behind the strand of trees and the creek…

   I found it quickly.

   Finally, there were horses here. Grown horses, retired racers probably, who had seen better days…

   A pale shape stood apart from the multi-colored mass of blanketed backs. It climbed up a little slope and disappeared into the trees.

   There were a lot of horses. That was unusual. Had all the horses been left here?

   _Why_?

   My eyes swept over them, searching, looking…and not finding.

   Chills ran down my spine. 

   _Where was Moon? Where was everybody?_

   These were strange horses. 

   This was a strange farm. Where once I'd known it as a place of comfort, it was now like a skeleton of what it had once been.

   How could it have changed so much in a few short months? I'd just been gone about half of the year; this had been a thriving racing farm then.

   Now…I shook my head and continued along the line of trees, looking for everybody…_anybody_ I'd known…

   Night arrived. The moon came out, making the whole meadow shine with unearthly moonlight. The horses dozed together.

   I was hungry. I pawed out some grass from the snow and grazed, my ears pricked for approaching humans.

   The water in the stream was iced over. I broke the ice and let the cold water slide down my throat as I drank.

   A twig snapped behind me. My head shot up, water still dripping from my chin.

   Someone was standing there, his/her face concealed by shadows.

   Then, came the soft, gentle voice I remembered so well.

   "Spirit?"

   The next instant, I found myself burying my nose in her shoulder as we flew down to meet each other.

   Moon's eyes were shining when we finally pulled apart.

   "You came back…"

   She sounded like she didn't believe it.

   "You said you'd come back and you did…"

    I rubbed my cheek against her silky mane, speechless with relief that she was okay.

   "You could've been caught and yet you came back…" Her voice broke.

   I nosed her. 'Where's everybody?"

   "They're gone. Spirit, they're all gone." 

   "Everybody?" There was a sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach.

   "Everybody except me and Sir Peppero and a few others."

   "Why? Tell me everything."

   And so, Moon began. " Everything started the day after you were stolen. It didn't take long for the grooms to discover that you were gone. " 

   "Of course, humans went looking for you. And obviously, they didn't find you.

   "Things got very confusing for me after that, but Sir Peppero explained everything that happened to us."

   "Our owner was mad, angry. Why not? He'd hoped to make a lot of money from you; you could have run in another Triple Crown and won it again, there would be more races, and still later, owners of mares would be flocking to him to have their mares bred to you."

   "He wanted you back. So did Sims."

   "Then, everything Sims had so carefully hidden about you–_everything_–came out."

   "That you were half-mustang. That you had false papers. That you had been taken off the range. That you had been registered in the Jockey Club when it wouldn't have been allowed had they known."  

   "Now, everything changed. When they discovered you had mustang blood, suddenly, you meant nothing to them anymore. Our owner couldn't race his horses now; he'd been banned by the stewards. Sims couldn't train horses either; he was banned too." 

   "And once other people found out that you have mustang blood, they wouldn't want their mares bred to you, because no matter how fast the foals are, they would never have been allowed to race, so what was the use? To them, you were worthless, trash. They don't want you back now. "

   "Our owner had to pay enormous sums of paper leaf money. Sims had to pay even more paper leaf money."

   "Our owner sued Sims. And don't ask me to explain what 'sued means," she added hastily as I opened my mouth to ask her exactly the same thing. "because I don't know what it means."

   "Anyway, Sims was fired soon. But this farm couldn't run well without him. You've seen what it has become. Our owner is a poor judge of character, but with everything that was going on, nobody wanted to work here anyway. It's being sold soon."

   "This isn't a racing stable anymore. The track is deserted. We don't even go there. These days, I think no one does anything around here anymore; we just stay in this field day after day after day…"

   "The other horses?" I prodded.

   "They were sold, the racers one by one at first, then the rest roped off to auction, to pay the owner's bills. I hear we're being sold to someone else who plans to make this a breeding farm." Moon shuddered. "They kept me around only because the owner would get a good price for me should he decide to sell me."

   "Steele?"

   "He's still here. They keep all the fast ones, or the ones with good breeding."

   "Marionette? Fire Phoenix?"

   She bowed her head and whispered,  "Sold."

   "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." What else could I say? She'd lost her best friend.

   Why were horses suddenly losing their best friends all over the place?

   "Dick and Chaya?"

   "They left together with Terri just before Owner sued Sims. We don't know where they are anymore."

   "Why didn't they sell Sir Peppero?"

  "They tried. He was already old. No one wanted to buy him. So he stays. Now, your turn."

   I told her everything that had happened to me since I last saw her.

   Between her story and mine, took up the rest of the night.

   And I didn't even notice the sun creeping up on us.

   I didn't realize until I heard two shrill whistles that I was standing here, a golden horse against a white backdrop, easily seen, and in this weather, easily caught.

   Three humans were walking along, banging pails they carried.

   The horses had gathered around them.

   If they came any closer, I would be seen!

   "Midnight, by the creek, come if you want to leave," I told Moon then pushed past her and deeper into the woods where the humans would never bother to come after me, all the while wondering if she understood what I'd meant.

   The rest of the day slid by. I paced and counted down the hours until evening, when I would go west, away from this place, and not come back forever.

   This would be my last night here.

   I wondered if Moon would come. I wondered if she would _want_ to come.

   And as I wondered, my stomach twisted and turned.

   My plans for running away were just…running away. I'd gauged the time and the distance Jack had said it took the truck to travel to and back from Washington, and I'd decided to start early, not wanting to be left behind.

   Night dragged by. I made my way through the woods, staying in the trees, until I found the creek again. Now the paddock with the four young horses was empty, their hoofprints still on the snowy ground.

   Midnight.

   I waited longer. And longer still.

   And finally, feeling dead numb inside, I set off.

   So Moon hadn't wanted to come at all.

   Fine. I didn't blame her. It was a rough life out there: cougars, humans, and for a filly like her, stallions, stallions, and more stallions trying to steal her.

   I told myself everything would be okay. I told myself that I would get back home with or without her.

   I told myself to forget everything about humans or tame horses and focus on not getting caught and getting home quickly.

   I told myself I could go on living without her.

   But deep down inside, I knew I was lying to myself.

   The dead feeling deadened some more. I found myself dragging my feet, not wanting to leave Oakwood Acres until I could see her one last time, make sure one last time that there hadn't been a mistake, that Moon still wanted to run away with me.

   False hopes.

   I forced my feet into a trot, wanting to get away from it all. Oakwood Acres was behind me now, and I was traveling beside a back country road that I was sure led to the highway.

   I would forget about her. I would forget she even existed. I wou–

   "Spirit!"

   Was someone calling me?

   I pushed into a canter.

  "Spirit! Wait up!"

   I slowed, disbelieving.

   Moon caught up with me in a whirlwind of flying manes and tails.

   I nosed her, happiness rising like a river that was threatening to overflow a dam.       

   "I'm sorry I was late. I had to wait till the humans were gone before I could get out. Then, I had to get rid of my blanket. That was hard…" She was panting, breathless from excitement. "Then when I got to the creek, you weren't there, but I saw your hoofprints so I followed them here…"

   "Hoofprints…"

   Her voice echoed in my ears. The word _hoofprints_ stuck to my mind.

   I looked back and say a trail of very plain tracks, leading right to where we were standing, which even a blind old dog could follow, and went cold.

   "Spirit? You okay?" Moon was peering up at me, puzzled.

   "Thanks for reminding me," I muttered distractedly, already on my way to the nearest vegetation I could find, which, in this case, was a large skeletal bush.

   Ten minutes later, we were on our way back to the farm, branches in our mouths, our heads held sideways so as not to trip on them. Now, I glanced back and saw the tracks being wiped away by the dead branches.

   We wiped away the last of the hoofprints up to the creek, then pushed the dead branches under some bushes.

   Now, we stayed in the woods, and here, every single lesson my mother had taught me on how to conceal tracks came into use.

   There was a lot of snow around. Rocks and stony ground were both buried underneath it.

   It would be hard to go around unnoticed.

   I swung around to face Moon. "Stay behind me all the time. Follow exactly what I do. We need to get a head start while it's still night. I'll explain everything when we find a safe place.

   She nodded and we started off.

   A while later, I glanced back and couldn't keep a smile off my face when I saw her putting her tiny hooves exactly where I put mine.

   I hadn't left a scent. She wouldn't leave one either.

   We followed the road until it split into two and the trees ended.

   Now it looked a bit like the land beside the highway road. Out on the prairie, was open grass, or what used to be open grass and was now open snow.

   The trees ended a few feet away.

   Moon came up beside me.

   "Whoa," she whispered, her eyes bright and sparkling at the winter wonderland spread out before us, white, almost glowing in the moonlight, pristine, undisturbed. The sky was a deep blue, dotted with shining stars. 

   I lipped her mane. "Welcome to the prairie."

   "It's beautiful." 

   "You should see it during summertime. The ground isn't as hard as it looks like, and it's not smooth and slippery like when the track at home freezes over. Feel like doing a bit of running?"

   She grinned. "I'd love to."

   I grinned back. "Yee hah!"

   We burst out of the trees, wheeling and bucking together, snow flying in sprays behind us as we went into a canter.

   The ground rose slowly in front, the road a bit beneath our hooves.

   We reached the crest of the gentle hill and I stopped.

   "Look," I whickered softly.

   Moon followed my gaze back to the farms and caught her breath. The distant farms and farmhouses with pastures and barns lay spread out below us, bright lights winking and twinkling at us like the stars in the heavens.

   If we'd known what a postcard was, I would have said it was a postcard picture-perfect moment.

   "Say, 'Bye-bye, humans!' "

   She laughed.

   "Come on."

   We trotted down the slope. Now civilization was hidden behind us, humans and farms and tack things of the past. The trees swept away in a wide curve on both sides of the road. Out in front of us was ground to cover.

   "We just follow the road. Just stay away from the highway so you won't be seen, or cross it or you might be hit by cars. There's no need to worry about being tracked; the humans will only think of this as the last place to look for us, and by then, our prints will have been erased."

   Moon cocked her head. "Spirit, have you ever seen me run?"   

   "Not up close, just when you're in the paddock with Marionette. I'm sorry," I added quickly, because she'd grimaced. "If she were still there, she would have come with us of course. I wouldn't leave her behind."

   "I know." But the twinkle had returned to her eyes. "Want to know how fast I can run?"

   "Can I guess?"

   "Ummm…nope." Moon put on speed and raced ahead of me. "Eat my snow!"

   I shook my head and took off after her. "I don't think so!"

   Laughing, we flew down the endless plain together, side by side, snow flying from our hooves, our feet touching and lifting off from the earth together in a steady drumming rhythm. 

   I stopped talking and concentrated on running, feeling the wind in my face, feeling my mane hitting my neck each time I took a stride, breathing the cold night air, just running…running with Moon…

   The rest of the night passed in wonderful silence, spent just running, running.

   However, all horses can't go on forever. We slowed to a walk, blowing and panting, our breaths misting in front of our faces, grinning all the time.

   Then, Moon turned her head to the east, behind us. "Look." The first word spoken for a long time.

   I turned my head too. A thin line of gray was touching the horizon.

   My head swung let and right, looking for shelter automatically. "There." A line of dark shapes promised nice dark shade.

   "But we'll get farther from the road." Ah, she was worried too.

   "We'll just have to risk it, rather than being seen in open daylight and being caught. Its ok, we can always find it again." I hope, I added silently.

   Leaving the road was dangerous. With no trees or mountains or landmarks to guide us, we could get lost and just go running in circles.

   But it was either that or be seen.

   No choice.

   We reached the dark shapes (which turned out to be trees after all) and found water. 

   "You saved our lives last night," I said softly while Moon dipped her silver nose in the water and drank.

   She didn't answer, just flicked back her ears. 

   "Yeah, I'm serious. You reminded me of the hoofprints. We'd have been in serious trouble by now if those tracks hadn't been covered up."

   No answer.

   I took my turn and drank.

   Then, it was resting and grazing what grass we could find for the rest of the day, waiting for sunset.

   Fortunately, sunset came very quickly, the days being shorter during winter than the nights.

   We kept to the trees and moved on.

   But the trees were soon leading away from the road.

   And with no vegetation to hide us, we'd be more vulnerable than ever.

   Uh ohh…did I make a mistake bringing Moon out here?

   I would look back at her, obediently following in my footsteps, and wonder if I would cause the death of both of us just with my recklessness.

   What if we starved? Grass was growing more and more scarce as winter wore on. What if Moon couldn't survive out in the wild?

   What if she slipped or broke her foot or the other horses wouldn't accept her? 

   _What if we were caught?_

   What if, what if, what if…

   And I would sigh.

   At first, we'd hide in the woods, watchful, fearful, jumping at every twig that snapped or every howl of the wind, expecting to see humans tramping toward us, ropes in their hands.

   But as the days went on and there was no sign of pursuit, I became more and more wary.

   What were they doing? Where were they? Not that I wanted them here, but better an enemy you can see than one you can't. If you can't see them, you won't know when they strike.

   After our first day, I'd pulled Moon aside.

   "You know where the mountains are, right? Now when the humans come, we'll be aiming for them, which is…west. Farms and paddocks are back East. If I get caught, I want you to run. Just keep on running and don't look back. Keep to the woods; the humans will have to go on foot there. Whatever you do, don't go out into the open, because they can drive their trucks there and use those things to catch you. If you go west, you may tire out before you find someplace to lose them to. But if you go East, you'll be trapped with the farming country before you. Your choice which way you run."

   Her dark eyes had widened. "What if _I_ get caught?"

   I'd rubbed my cheek against hers. "I won't let them. Just remember: they're humans with two legs. You're a Thoroughbred, the fastest breed in the world."

   She'd smiled.

   But as we went on, Moon smiled less and less often. Life without humans was hard. I was used to it. But she wasn't. Everyday, she grew thinner, her ribs more prominent, her coat losing the shiny sheen of a well-fed horse. But she never complained, just stuck by my side through the snow and the wind, and one night, sleet and hailstones.

   I'd forgotten about the truck. I'd forgotten about Jack and Snow White and Coconut and all the other ponies. I'd forgotten about the lift back West.

   But one day, while we stood and watched, three humans jumped off a truck parked beside the road, set up a small round paddock made of tall sticks of wood with strips of cloth in between, watched as the ponies were coaxes out one by one into the coldness while the men cleaned the trailer of the dirty straw.

   This was a different batch of ponies. I swept my glance over them, ready to move on when a bright bay horse raised his head. He looked familiar.

   Very familiar.

   I touched Moon's shoulder, whickered for her to wait here, and edged around behind the truck where I wouldn't be seen.

   The ponies were lesser in number this time. They were strangers.

   But the bay horse wasn't.

   "Jack?"

   His head snapped around.

   "Ah hah! You're here!" 

   We trotted to meet each other.

   "Where's your friend?" he asked right after we'd touched noses.

   "You didn't even ask how I was!" I pretended to be offended.

   He laughed and hit me lightly. "I can see you're all right. I have eyes, you know." He rolled them upward to demonstrate. "Now where's your friend?"

   "Is it safe?"

   He glanced at the men too. "You're right. Wait till we're about to be loaded. Then come inside so you won't get noticed."

   I nodded and backed away.

   "Moon?" 

   She was still there, standing in the shadows. 

   "We can get a ride West! We won't have to walk anymore."   

   "Good!" Now she stepped out into the sunlight. "I'd thought we were going to walk half-way across the country."

   A door banged. The humans were coming back!

   "Come on." 

   Amid stares from the ponies who now had very obviously seen us, we raced to the makeshift paddock and hopped inside.

   Then, Moon noticed something else. "Spirit! They've got blankets on!"

   "Ack!" What now? Too late to go back, and we'd look really really suspicious.

   "Umm…" My eyes fell on the trailer. "Inside!"

   We bolted up the ramp just in time.

   One of the humans poked his head in.

   "Don't act nervous. Pretend nothing's wrong." I muttered from the corner of my mouth.

   Moon snorted. "Tell that to yourself."

   She trotted to the humans and began nudging their coat pockets.

   What do you do when a horse gets friendly? You get friendly in return, of course.

   I watched disbelievingly as Moon got her ears petted, acting like a perfect little foal who'd just seen her best friends, like a dog sitting wagging her tail begging for a treat.

   She sent a look my way. "Who's pretending now?"

   I gritted my teeth and moved into the light.

   Needless to say, we got what we wanted. After a great amount of prancing around, whuffing the humans, wearing cutesy, cuddly, *loving* puppy-dog expressions on our faces, the humans had decided we weren't strangers, we'd somehow gotten our blankets off, fetched us new ones, and soon we were trundling along with Jack and the other ponies.

   Unfortunately, we made complete fools of ourselves in the process. What were those ponies going to think of us?

   "Have I told you that you are brilliant?" 

   Moon snorted. "Do I have remind you that you've told me _that_ for a thousand times already?"

   "Have I also told you that you should think about joining a pet show?"

   "Why?"

   "Because the judges will take a look at you and let you walk away with all the prizes without even batting an eyelash."

   She batted hers. "Like this?"

   "We looked stupid, right?" I asked Jack.

   He snorted too." She didn't. You did." 

   I rolled my eyes and watched them grin at one another.

   Over the past few days in here, Moon and Jack had quickly taken to each other. He was now as fond of her as he was as fond of me, treating us like favorite nephews or nieces.

   I don't know. Somehow, Jack was just like what I imagined Northlight would be if I'd gotten to know him well enough.

   He'd become almost my father.

   "But seriously!" I protested, not able to stop the corners of my mouth twitching upward. "Come on! We looked stupid, right?"

   They just laughed.

   I gave up and laughed along too, helpless.

   The other ponies were not like the close-knit bunch of before. This time, they weren't really ponies at all, but assorted breeds left over from the sales no one wanted to buy. So, no one really talked to anyone else, unless they knew each other. Which was really rare.

   Jack told me he had acted all mean and bad-tempered so no one would buy him. He liked traveling, he said, and besides, he wanted to see me again.

   We stood side by side one day, watching snow blow past us outside the truck, talking softly, Moon having been drawn into a conversation with two other mares.

   "You've chosen well," he whickered so only I could hear.

   He didn't need to tell me he meant Moon.

   I blew out through my nose. "I remember saying the same thing to my brother."

   "She learns fast. You could train her to be a good lead mare in no time. Quick thinker. That little lady can take care of herself."

   I nodded. He always referred to Moon as the 'little lady' after being introduced to her.

   "If we stay free long enough for me to raise a herd…"

   During the days in the trailer, I never thought about overshooting our destination.

   It wasn't until we started passing trees and rock formations and more trees and once, a plateau, that I realized with a pang that I didn't even know where we were.

   Unfortunately, Coconut, who'd been really good at geography, wasn't here.

   That was…okay…I could still ask Jack.

   More bad luck. Jack didn't know either.

   Okay. So what if we overshoot the meadow? We could get off a little later, then retrace our way to the original spot where we'd planned to disembark.

   In the truck, I couldn't be sure if the mountain range looming along the horizon was Three Peak's or not.

   I wasn't sure of where we were even if the trees and rocks and the land in general looked familiar enough.

   So, foolishly, I decided to wait, not wanting to go out in the snow and the driving winds again, decided to wait for just the right time.

   Until the truck jerked me awake one morning and my eyes opened to the mountain range behind us.

   What?! How could we have gone by so quickly? I raced to the back window and stuck my nose out.

   There, outlined against the blue, was the barely seen dip in the mountains.

   Wow. This was really really great. I could have hit myself on the head. 

   Of course I couldn't recognize the landscape! Of course I didn't know where we were!

   When I'd gone home, I hadn't traveled on the road. 

   Of course everything would be unfamiliar! How could they be when I'd never even seen them before?

   I found Moon and told her we had to get off at today's stop, seen or not seen, otherwise we would be wasting our escaping. 

   Fortunately, we managed to get away without the humans noticing, which was a miracle.

   Unfortunately, we were faced with the prospect of walking miles and miles back East, because of my stupidity, trudging in the snow and the wind.

   No choice.

   As we took to the woods, the truck leaving us behind in a trail of tire tracks, Jack poking his face out and yelling "Good bye! Remember not to become cougar food!", I promised myself I would never, never, _never_ _ever_ procrastinate again.

   It had almost cost us our lives and our freedom.

   Now we were walking, covering a good distance a day, but we had to stop more often than not, because of Moon.

   She'd led a soft life, filled with ready food and sunshine and green grass to run on.

   She'd never learned how to find her own food, search for water, and other essential skills mustangs are taught from foalhood.

   Out here, she would have to learn how to survive on her own.

   Of course, it was harder for her to adapt here. For one thing, she got tired easily, used to running on a flat surface, not used to climbing or scrambling upwards or on a slope.

   For another, she had small feet, and now, I came to see where my feet had some use after all.

   My big feet would pass over cracks and small holes, while her tiny dainty hooves would sink into every crevice we set foot on.

   But she didn't complain.

   Moon never complained. Instead, it was me who would look back over my shoulder and see her head drooping low, her hooves floundering in the snow, and it would be me who had to keep on persuading her to take a rest.

   She would protest of course, but I would say very very firmly that I was tired too. And she would gratefully stop.

   At first, Moon would laugh and joke along with me, but as the distance and the poor food wore her out, her laughter would die down. 

   Soon, we were reduced to just walking in companionable silence.     

   And all this time I'd thought we'd gotten away easy, convinced myself that the humans would never come looking for us this far west, that we'd be safe enough.

   And I would be proven wrong. 

   It was late one night when we heard them.

   I'd awakened first to human voices shouting, lights flaring.

   I was standing perfectly still, my eyes fixed on the distant yellow beams, when Moon's head came up slowly.

   "Shh…" I spoke from the side of my mouth. Her eyes were still half-closed. She'd been exhausted that day, since we'd taken a particularly long detour uphill to avoid the stream, which was freezing.

   "Humans…"

   Instantly, her eyes shot open.

   "What?!" Her voice was hoarse, as if she didn't believe it was happening.

   "Tell me I'm dreaming. Please tell me this is a nightmare," she whispered.

   "No," I whispered back, the familiar cold fear creeping up my stomach.

   To prove it, I pressed my muzzle against her neck.

   "You're right. This is reality."

   Moon being a silver horse, she blended in naturally to the background and wouldn't be _that_ easily seen.

   I was a different matter.

   We were trapped. Move and they would see us. Stay still and they would find us.

   We slowly backed against some rocks, hoping against hope that the humans wouldn't come into this clearing, hoping that we would have some kind of camouflage.

   Too bad it snowed when we didn't want it to, and didn't snow when we needed snow most, like right now.

   I'd planned to stay still, stay put. Just stand here and maybe they wouldn't come at all.

   Until we heard the crackling and snapping of dead branches snapping under weight, just coming from up one of the trails that led here.

   "Let's go." I mouthed. This close, we didn't dare make a sound, even to whisper.

   The humans had carried little light bulbs with them. They were approaching quickly. And from both trails, the trails that would lead them here.

   "GO." No choice. We would have to go _upwards_.

   The way up was steep. Moon went first. I followed, looking back every now and then.

   Then, some rocks our hooves had dislodged came clattering below us, bouncing and hitting other rocks. I winced as the pebbles rolled into the clearing and stopped–right at the feet of one of the humans.

   "Moon! _Don't._ _Move_."

   He froze. The beam of light he carried swung upward immediately.

   I held my breath and wondered if he could see us.

   The beam was swinging back and forth about five hoofsteps from me. Ahead, Moon was a pale silver statue.

   Other humans joined him. He turned his head and talked to them, and though we couldn't hear what they were saying, we could plainly see the human pointing his finger upwards…at us.

   We didn't wait. The moment his back was turned, we fled into the darkness, more careful not to dislodge anything this time. 

   Somehow, we managed to slip past. How we did it, I don't know.

   All I knew was that we'd started running once we reached level ground, running away, forgetting our tiredness, forgetting that we'd gone a long way the day before, just running to get a far distance from the two-leggeds.

   Finally, we slowed, drawing in great shuddering gasps of breath, our coats damp with sweat.

   "Do we stop?"

   I shook my head, blowing. "We can't."

   "But why? We left them back there. They won't find us here. They wouldn't know if it was us or some other wild animal. Not now." Of course Moon was puzzled.

      I couldn't look at her. " Because they _do_ know, Moon. They know we were there."


	20. The Shortcut

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, the Black isn't mine .

A/N: Whew! It's a relief to be writing in English again, because I've had to spend the last two weeks and a half translating the biographies of our five presidential candidates (with about three to four pages each, including the platforms) from English to Tagalog, for our A.P. (Social Studies, I think) project. Which makes it 15-20 pages altogether.

   Actually, we have to juggle more than three projects these weeks: an English movie review (Bruce Almighty), _another_ English project (creative autobiography, and if you put in lots of humiliating baby pictures that show you drooling or doing who-knows-what-else, you get more points, which means a higher grade in Project, which means you get a higher average in English, which in turn will affect your entire general average for the whole quarter…), said Social Studies project, and other bits and pieces that aren't really that small…L…oh well…at least I'm not the only one staying up late; my friend did a survey and she found out everybody in our class (not to mention the whole Grade Seven batch) is staying up till 12-1 o' clock am to work, with the occasional record-breaker of someone going to bed 4:30 am and waking up 6 to get ready for school…  

   No wonder everybody's sleeping in class, which is a bad sign since this week is also Review Week, because next week are our final exams and we _do_ need the reviewing…but we need the sleep _more_ than the reviewing…:O… 

Okay, I've talked long enough…

Chapter 19

   "How?"

   I explained. "Because even if they didn't see us, they will see the patches of flattened grass we stepped on, the twigs we snapped when we went through, and if they've brought dogs, our scent."

   "I didn't see or smell any dogs."

   "There's another reason."

   "What?" 

   "They knew we went up that incline. And where would that incline lead? To this place. There's no other way back down, not for a long mile. So they'll come up here. And they'll probably have men down on the other side, waiting for us. We have to beat them to it."

   Moon looked worried.  "How much time have we got?"

   I glanced at the skyline. It was still dark, the stars still twinkling merrily.

   "Not much. But enough. We've got till sunrise, at the most."

   She didn't say anything anymore. We just took off, jogging.

   Our muscles cramped and burned. Our coats darkened with sweat. We kept on jogging, trotting, trying to keep awake, fighting the urge to close our eyes and keel over sideways right there and then, the terrible urge to sleep, to rest, knowing that if we did, we would wake up inside a human trailer.

   Each step we took made our hooves feel heavier and heavier, until finally, it was like we were dragging tons and tons of rock with us. Moon finally stumbled to a stop.

   "What about just sleeping the night off then galloping straight in the morning?"

   "Have I ever told you that you are brilliant?"

   She rolled her eyes wearily, panting. "It's not funny right now."

   I relented. She wouldn't be able to walk a step farther anyway, if we didn't rest now. "I'll take first watch."

   "Watch?"  
   "You didn't expect me to be snoring away beside you and letting the humans creep up on us, did you?"

   "I don't snore." But she gave me a grateful look just before her eyes closed.

   "I don't snore either."  My eyelids felt heavy. Heavier…heavier…

   We'd been cantering, galloping all day. She was tired. _I_ was tired.

   My eyes closed. No! I forced them wide open.

   We'd been jogging all night too.

   _Tired…so tired…_

   My eyes closed again. NO! I mustn't fall asleep. I shouldn't…

   Somewhere out there, unaware of the humans, a bird was singing. Somewhere out there, in the cool night, a bird was singing a song. It's voice was sweet. 

   It was singing a lullaby.

   Maybe it was ok to just close my eyes… I needed rest too…after all…

   Yeah…maybe it was ok…I would wake up again after a few seconds…and everything would still be okay…

   Just for a few seconds…just close…eyes…

   "Spirit. Wake up."

   Someone was nudging me.

   Go away. I'm tired.

   "SPIRIT! WAKE UP!" 

   "Wha-huh?" My eyelids shot open.

   Moon was prancing in place, nervous, tense…afraid.

   My gaze swept from her to the sky.

   Uh oh…

   The sky was gray. The sun was rising.

   We looked at each other and said one word at the same time.

   "Run."

   Sleeping hadn't taken away the fatigue.

   But it had helped. Now we were galloping, just as Moon had suggested. Only we were a bit behind schedule…

   The cold dawn air knifed through our noses and down our throats. We ran, not caring where we stepped, just as long as we made it…

   A whole night had been lost. A whole night of running had been wasted. Now, we would probably run right into a net the moment we took a step down.

   And it was my fault. I shouldn't have fallen asleep. I shouldn't have closed my eyes.

   Argghhh! I felt like hitting myself on the head. 

   Why was I so stupid? It was like running on nails barefoot, without shoes, because you'd forgotten to put them on…or like going wading in the middle of the monsoon season, when there are millions of mosquitoes and you know very well how hungry they're …

   We didn't talk. Moon didn't blame me. 

   That was one of the things I liked about her: her attitude of what's-done-is-done-and-blaming-someone-isn't-going-to-make-a-difference-anymore-so-just-keep-your-mouth-shut-and-face-the-consequences.

   What were the consequences in this case? I didn't want to think about them.

   "SPIRIT!!!"

   Moon's scream cut through my thinking.

   I stopped just short of plunging to my death, rocks and bits of ice I had dislodged tumbling down and crashing to the bottom.

   We'd come to the end of the high place. Here, the cliff sloped back down. Steeply. Very steeply.

   And I hadn't been watching where I was going.

   A trail. "There!"

   We raced down the incline, hurrying, and trying not to slide off at the same time.

   Then Moon had another of her brilliant ideas. "Instead of fighting the slope, why don't we just slide down it?"

   She didn't even stop for me to answer, but planted all four feet firmly on the smooth trail winding downwards and leaned forward.

   She started to slide. Now she leaned backward, carefully maneuvering, keeping her balance. 

   It took her one tenth of the time to slide down than it would have taken her walking. 

   She turned and looked up at me, still high above her, her silver profile blending into the background.

   "Come on."

   "You know," I said to Moon as I started sliding too. "I wish brilliance is contagious so you can share some of yours with me."

   "If I were sick with it." But she bumped me lightly to show she was just joking and took off again.

   Now we could slow down a little, relieved.

   " I just hope the humans are still snoring away…"  

   It was midday when it started to snow _again_. But at least we didn't have to wipe away our tracks.

   And at least it was a light snow. You know? Feathery white stuff raining–snowing, sorry–down on your back and neck and covering everything in a white film, shimmering and dusty.

   "We've got to go somewhere the humans won't think we went to." Moon was behind me, trudging, ploughing through the snow, just like I was, only hers was an easier job, since I'd already broken a trail through the really hard part.

   "Good thinking. But where?"

   "Like somewhere where we won't hear dogs barking?"

   My head shot up. I flicked back my ears.

   Nothing. Just this deathly silence. No birds, no wind, definitely no dogs…

   Wait. _Wait_…

   My pricked ears picked up a faint something that hers could hear clear as day.

   "Is it just me or–"

   She saw first. "Shake your head. Shake your head _now_."   

   Bewildered, I obeyed. And a whole load of snow went sliding off.

   "Oh."

   Now I could hear what she could hear.

   But my senses were sharper than hers. I could hear more.

   She heard the dogs barking. I heard the scuffling of noses on snow, feet pawing, breaths coming out wet noses.

   Then, there was a huge sharp bay that cut through the silence. It echoed, went around and around and around…

   "They've picked up our trail. _Run_!"

   The way ahead was hard. But now, looking back, there were dark specks on the horizon. Dark specks that would get steadily bigger and bigger and bigger…

   I turned my head to look forward. And skidded to a stop, hind feet flying underneath me, almost sitting down.

   Moon nearly crashed into me. "What is it?"

   I jerked my head. My forefeet were inches from a river. A flowing, rushing, deep, cold current that, at this time of the year, was swollen with the melted snow and ice. It was wide. Very, VERY wide.

   My eyes flew right and left along our side of the bank.

   Trees , trees, and more trees, right to the water's edge.

   The dogs were much louder now. I turned and saw the dark shapes, now with definable outlines, running towards us.

   No choice.

   I whirled and without hesitating, plunged in, face first.

   The water hit me with a shock. Ice cold, in a second, it felt like hundreds of needles were pricking my skin. 

   It closed over my head. Fighting, I broke from the water, gasping for breath, water streaming from my mane and forelock, making the hair cling to my skin.

   The second thing was the current. I pawed madly and could just feel the tips of my hooves brushing the river floor. The water pushed against me, pulling me with it, pushing, pushing, swirling, churning, surely heading for a waterfall…

   Then, my hooves found a shallower spot. I clung with my feet, steadied and looked back.

   Moon was still on the bank. 

   "_Are you crazy!?! The water's ice-cold! Hello, it's WINTER!!!"_

    Despite the cold, I forced up the corners of my mouth and grinned at her.

   "Come on in! The water's…" I trailed away. My expression must have been ghastly, because she grimaced, shook her head, and plunged in too.

   For a moment, she disappeared from the surface. I felt alarm rising when she didn't come up. Was she okay? _Did she know how to swim_?

   Then, Moon burst from the water, droplets flying, eyes wild. 

   "_SPIRIT_!"

   And no, this wasn't Moon joking or being sarcastic. This was Moon. Terrified.

   She went under again as the current swept her past me, spinning her in a slow circle.

   "_SPI_–" Her voice ended in a choked gurgle as her head surfaced, then disappeared in a circle of bubbles.

   I let go with my feet and let the current carry me, swimming with it. Then, I took a deep breath and went underwater.

   Moon was floating, her mane and tail streaming forwards, her silver legs pawing madly, her head a few inches below the water surface, and straining, straining to reach air. Bubbles were issuing from her mouth.

   I reached her, swam beside her, my own breath held, turned her to face me.

   Her eyes were open, fixed on some distant spot. The bubbles died down. Her legs slowed down, stopped paddling.

   And all this time, we were being swept downstream.

   No way. We'd come this far. She wasn't going to go _now_…

   I paddled, went under her, watching, swimming sideways, my lungs starting to burn. There! A rock. I tapped a hoof against it, careful to do it just right, and used the momentum to rise and change direction.  

   Relief flooded me when I felt Moon's warm weight settle over my back. She was surprisingly light. But my lungs were burning more. I was getting dizzy.

   Air. Had to…get…air…

   But it was harder now. I had an extra weight to carry. 

   My face broke the churning surface as I half rose and gulped in fresh air. Moon nearly slid off, but I caught her just in time. 

   She was still a dead weight. No movement. No anything. _No_ _breathing_…

   Now, it was swimming straight, _against_ the flow. I drifted sideways, the water against my shoulders, where the current was weaker, and began fighting.

   My legs were paddling furiously as I struggled. But with each flow, we were still going backwards… 

   Cold stone brushed my hip. We were passing boulders!

   And another one. We'd be killed if the current smashed us against one of those…

   Then, I felt movement. A huge shadow fell over my head and I was sure we were going to be crushed, but instead, I felt movement! Instead of going backwards, Moon's hooves met the rock, pushed against it, gave me enough momentum to surge forward. She was weak. _But_ _she was alive_!

   Relief…happiness, flowed into me. And with it, new strength.

   I found new footing. We edged upstream, our manes and tails flowing sideways, still being dragged by the current. I kept my face clear of the water and hugged the bank until we reached the shallow part where I'd stopped before.

   Moon coughed. And spat out a great stream of water. She coughed some more and just laid her silver head against my neck. I just stood there, keeping my balance, resting, breathing, trying not to think of what might have happened…

   She murmured something. My ears flew back. "What?"

   "Let me off."

   "_What_!?!"

   "I said, let m–"

   "No, I heard you. But I mean…are you crazy!?! Is your memory so short you've forgotten you were almost swept away the last time?"

   "I seem to remember having said those exact words a while ago…but never mind. It's okay. If you can stand, I can too."

   Speechless, I felt her slide off, felt her warm weight settle against my left shoulder as she came to stand beside me. The water rose to my chest, just above her shoulder.

   "Do you want to rest here or go up the bank?"

   "Do you wa–"

   A twig snapped. Both our heads shot back. We could now hear the humans talking.

   "Okay, no choice," I muttered. 

   "Come on."

   Her eyes went wide. "Now _you're_ the one being crazy!"

   "No. It's just this idea I have…but we have to try it first…"

   "What? Just jump out there, yell 'AAHHHH!!!!!' ? and go shooting over the waterfall?" 

   Despite everything, I snorted. Any other time and I would have laughed. But this wasn't any other time.

   "See, you can swim, but you can't fight the current. I'm stronger, so I'll swim to your right side, because that's where the current comes from. You stay to my left. I'll break the force of the current, and you stay there so I won't be swept away. We'll have to go together."

   We didn't say 'go!' We didn't even count to three. We just leapt out, from the shallow place, trusting our instincts, swimming frantically. 

   But now, with the two of us, it helped. A little. Whenever I lost my footing, I had the assurance that at least someone was keeping me from being swept away, though once, when the water slammed me onto Moon, I heard her catch breath and sway. On the other hand, Moon wasn't being swept away because I was there, taking the current.

   I looked back. The trees on the near side looked farther already.

   The water was now to my shoulder, and halfway up her neck.

   We angled sideways, legs churning, heads held high. But our tired muscles were burning, we were gasping. The cold of the water was more intense now than ever.

   The water rose higher still. It was now to my neck and just below Moon's chin.

   I couldn't even feel the icy needles anymore, just this vague numb feeling I'd recalled having felt in the snowstorm that had driven me to the hidden valley.

   This numbness could only mean one thing: we were freezing up.

   I glanced sideways, and sure enough, Moon's nose and the tips of her ears were tinged pale and blue, instead of pink.

   I felt more and more sluggish. And we weren't even half-way across yet! The trees were still the same size.

   Then, I felt a hoof sink into nothingness–and pitched forward.

   The water closed over my head in a shimmering myriad of blue and dazzling white. Moon gasped as the current hit her on the neck.

   No I couldn't even feel the bottom anymore. I glanced down, eyes wide, cold water making my eyeballs sting, and let out a stream of bubbles in surprise.

   The river shelf sloped down to bottom. I–we–were now entirely on our own, without land to support us. 

   My head rose above the water again. I gulped in breath, gasping and sputtering.

   "Moon! You should take a look dow–"

   A wave of water caught me with mouth wide open. An icy mouthful seared my throat as I swallowed, failed, tried to get it back out, and failed too.

   But Moon got the idea. She took a breath, looked down, and nodded to show me she saw I too.

   I turned my head. We were now half-way across. It was equal distance to either side.

   But the trees looked the same. How could it be? Were we moving at all? Or were we just treading water, stuck there forever?

   I could make out two-leggeds on the bank we left, watching us.

   And right now, I didn't care.

   But by now, the water was up to my chin. Moon was almost entirely submerged, her whole silver body underwater, her mane and tail clouds of silver hair, only a stripe, a sliver of her nose and mouth was above water. And incoming walls of water would frequently wash over her.

   She was fighting. And losing.

   "Harder," I urged her. "_Swim_ _harder_!" Silently, I was also urging myself.

   I was swallowing mouthfuls of water each time I opened my mouth to try to speak. So I gave up and butted her with my nose instead.

   Her knees must be aching. How long had it been since we entered the water? I was past feeling numb anymore; now, I just felt…nothing. No sharp prickles, no icy water, no numbness, just…nothing. Nothing but my heavy water-logged mane dragging me downwards, my tail twisting and turning and getting in the way of my legs as I paddled, my hooves feeling as if they were a couple of elephants heavy each, the feeling that we weren't moving at all, that we still had miles and miles and miles to cover and that we wouldn't make it alive…the desire to give up and simply let the water win, to let the water wash over my head…to surrender completely…

   And I knew. I was already feeling this way, with my long, winter coat. How would Moon be feeling in her clipped, short supposed-to-be-but-really-wasn't-working insulation?

   Just keep paddling, just keep paddling…my movements were growing slower…feebler…

   Then, amazingly, one hoof struck rock. I stumbled, taking in a huge gulp of water and spitting it back out almost instantly.

   We were on the shelf! 

   Then, we were rising out of the water, clambering up the bank, water streaming off our manes and tails, the cold air cutting us like knives as we made for the bank and trees, looking back over our shoulders at the astounded humans as we disappeared.

   I glanced at Moon and couldn't keep from laughing.

   "You look like a drowned rat!" 

   It was true. Her mane stuck to her neck, tail pasted to her hocks, water still dripping, forming pools. Her sodden coat was slick and wet, all smooth and shiny.

   She laughed back. 

   "So do you! You've got spikes of your mane sticking up all over your head!"

   I laughed with her.

   A sound made us look back, over the river.

   There were now four humans standing on the banks, each holding a horse, with an extra horse trailing behind on a lead line. They were pointing up and down the river, gesturing, making mouth sounds.

   I was pleased at the shocked look on their faces.

   "They didn't expect us to swim across it."

   Moon nodded. "And they don't want to get their pretty white hides wet when they follow us."

   "I think they're going to ford the river higher up, further east where it's not that deep. At least that'll give us time."

   Moon sneezed.

   I glanced at her, then glanced at her again, concerned. The tips of her ears, nose and mouth, instead of pink like I knew mine already were, were still pale with a tinge of blue.

   "Moon! Shake of the water _now_!"

   I was already shaking mine off, like a dog. 

   She followed me. I exhaled a warm breath in her face, decided she was probably too tired to go on today, and began looking for shelter for the night.

   We could use a day of rest, since the humans were…presumably…far, far away…unless they found a shortcut…

   We found some seed pods hanging onto some bushes. No grass. So we had to be content with crunching up seeds for dinner.   

   Hello Jack. Hello beanstalk. No giant…

   The next few days, the terrain changed. Where before the river, it had been alternately flat with cliffs, now, it was almost always rocky, with an uneven path winding up and down among the rocks, which were getting taller, some forming towering rock formations. Below these formations, deep trenches formed, running down to others to become deep canyons, with the cliffs rising far above our heads.

   The going was tough, but at least I knew where we were–in the canyons west of what used to be Northlight's–now Fleetfoot's meadow.

   And by now I had a plan. With the humans behind us, and no sign of them ever since the crossing, I formulated something, which, if it would work, would not only get the humans away from us, but would make sure they stayed far, far, ffaaaarrrrrr away.    


	21. The Getaway

Disclaimer: The Black belongs to somebody else, somebody who's a better writer than I am…

A/N: Rusty and the Rubix Horse – Actually, this story's not done yet…there's some more…and yeah, I'm planning a sequel, but it's not going to be about Spirit bringing Moon home…coming soon after this one…hope you'll like it…

   Sorry about the typos; thanks for the info about the stallion and the mare and being put in stud; I was clueless about that before…

Whew!! (again…) Really, really sorry I haven't been updating that often, but final exams are all over now (YEE HAAHHH!!!!!)…Summer vacation's starting, so I can write all I want…update all I want too…That is, if the Internet Connection will let me…and considering that the last few nights it's been preventing me from connecting to the Net…=s… oh well…  

   Short chapter everybody. I can say the next ones will be longer, but this one's short…

Chapter 20

   "Ok. Here's the deal."

   We were trotting along the bottom of one of the big canyons.

   Rock walls rose up all around us. _White_ rock walls. 

   "What deal?" Moon narrowly missed sinking her hoof into a crevice that turned out to be hock deep.

   I butted her with my nose. "Watch where you're going. We're near my old home, but not near enough. It's still almost seven days' journey by walking, almost cut in half by galloping. There's an arch we have to pass through first–the Spanning Bridge–it's the biggest, widest bridge around–it's famous for that. You can't miss it. After that, it's just a day or so and we reach the meadow."

   Her eyes widened. "Don't tell me–"

   "No." I said quickly. "We're not going to cross _over_ it. We're going to go _under_ it. It's an archway from one side of he canyon to the other. Big and wide–wide enough for two horses to cross. But that's during summertime." 

   "In winter, nobody uses it, because it's slippery–can't count how many horses have fallen to their deaths from it. Their skeletons are still lying around the canyon floor–that's why that canyon is called Dead Horse Canyon. Anyway, in winter, when it's undisturbed, the snow piles up. When it gets too heavy, the snow falls, making something like a little avalanche. Don't worry, it won't kill. But that's the second thing it's famous for–the falling snow. Now after the snow falls, that particular canyon is blocked–no one can get through on either side, the side we are on now, and the side from the meadow–until all the snow melts, which is late spring."

   "So you want to wait for the humans till we're near it, chance crossing it when the snow falls, and leave them on the other side while we get away."

   I nodded.

   "Brilliant plan, but what if we get there too early or too late?"

   "If we get there too early, the humans will follows us through. And we definitely don't want that. If we get there too late, well, we're trapped with the snow wall before us and the humans behind us. And there's no other way out of that spot for days around, unless we can somehow slip through, go west until we're out of the canyons entirely, then try going back East by a different way. But you won't want to travel that time of the year; the rivers are all swollen with the melting snow; they'll be worse than the one we crossed.

   "Of course," I added, " We could always try climbing the canyon walls. There's a particularly low place not far from Dead Horse Canyon and the Spanning Bridge where we can get to the top easily. Then, it's open mesa from there on. Flat land with some trees."

   I'd never actually climbed to the very top of the canyons, but my mother had, and she'd told me.

   "How long do you think it'll be before the snow falls, with this weather?"

  I glanced at the sky. Pale blue with fluffy clouds. Sunlight…not much." I don't know."

   Moon shuddered. "I just hope we make it before _they_ do." 

   It started snowing again later that day, and I was getting worried that the snow might fall early on before we even got to it when Moon stopped and pointed with her nose.

   "What was that?"

   A dark shape was slinking along the cliffs, it's body low to the ground.

   I dismissed it. "Probably a cougar." A light load of snow slid from my mane as I shook it off.

   She moved closer. 

   "Don't worry. Cougars wouldn't dare attack two grown horses. Not until they're starving. Which I really doubt they are," I added hastily as her eyes widened in alarm. "Because if they are, we wouldn't have been in their stomachs long before now."

   "They're downwind. We can't be sure what they are."

   "How do you know it's a _they_? And anyway, if it _is_ a cougar, then we'll just run."

   The silence was eerie. Somehow, we didn't run, but made our way through the canyon floor, weaving around packed snow, keeping an eye out. Here and there, small gnarled dry bushes poked their way bravely through all the snow. 

   It had been the fourth rising of the sun after we crossed the river. And I was getting apprehensive. There had been no sign of humans.

   Yet.

   They were at it again. I was getting tired of this hide-and-seek game they were playing with us, popping up unexpectedly when we were most off-guard.

   A pebble clattered down a smooth cliff face.

   Moon stopped behind me. I stopped too.

   "That wasn't a cougar," I whispered.

   Cougars would never do that, would never be careless enough to send something down when they're stalking their prey.

   Then, something clinked. It sounded familiar.

   It sounded like–

   "_Yahh_!!"

   A huge brown horse burst from an overhead ledge right above us and landed heavily on the gorge. Moon swerved left, I swerved right.

   It's rider twirled a lasso and let out a ringing yell.

   "_RUN_!"

   We fled through a curtain of falling snow and rock as other riders burst from their hiding places and went after us.

   We ran for our lives now, manes and tails streaming, not caring where we put our feet. But this was rough terrain. And even I was used to running on a smooth flat surface.

   And that made us lose speed. Fortunately, we were Thoroughbreds, and the other horses were not.

   A rider had moved up beside me. I glared at him through narrow eyes. He twirled his lasso high as I shot forward.

   The rope hit my rump and bounced off. "Faster!" I whinnied, desperation rising.

   Moon was running straight out. I pulled in beside her and we ran, matching strides. The sound of our own hooves and the yells of the men echoed through the canyon, bouncing back, making it sound like there were a hundred horses running instead of just less than ten.

   "Don't–do–that." Each word came out every time my hooves hit the ground.

   "What?" Her voice was shaking.

   "Swerve–harder–to–lasso–" 

   She nodded.

   The rider had pulled beside me again. I timed my strides to his lasso twirls and his horse's strides.

   One, two, three, _wham_! 

   I rammed the brown horse's shoulder with all my strength.

   He stumbled, and his rider, caught off balance, went flying up over our heads with an "AHHH!"

   He landed somewhere beyond.

   We ran on. 

   And as we were chased, I could feel the waves of fear begin to wash over me from head to toe. This was a straight canyon. Not that it ran in a straight line, but that it was a _single_ one–no forks, not that I know of, not branching paths or anything.

   It _could_ lead to a dead end.

   And we would get tired eventually. My eyes raked the cliff walls desperately, looking for breaks, dips, trails that led upward.

   "Look!" Moon's voice was trembling. We turned a corner and found ourselves facing a fork.

   Left, the canyon led on. Right, the canyon led on. Ahead was a sliver of rock, standing tall.

   What fork. I never remembered a fork in this place.

   "Which way?" Moon panted.

   "Umm…uhh…" My mind raced. What _was_ this place? Everything boiled down to the realization that I didn't know where we were.

   "Uhh…"

   "Decide _now_!"   

   I spotted a dip in the right-hand side. A dip meant a shorter distance to the flat tops, which right now, were our only chance of getting away.

   "Right! Go right!"

   We turned as one, legs and hooves churning up snow and rocks and snow dust flying behind us as we swept by the rock wall.

   "I hope this ends where we want it to," I breathed, not thinking.

   "What!?! _You don't know where we are_!?!"

   Argghhh! But what could I say now?

   Nothing. Besides, my whole attention was fixed to not tripping over anything.   Here, the canyon was wider. More, bigger rocks, more brave trees, yet more rocks and pebbles that gave way beneath our pounding hooves.

   We swept down the canyon at a slow gallop, my eyes still searching frantically, the humans now a bit behind us.

   Left, none, right, none, left, none, right–there! Barely visible, a tiny trail wound it's way from the canyon floor to the top.

   Without pausing to think where it would lead us, I bolted for it, Moon hot on my heels, the riders slowing beneath us, confused, while we made headway, scrambling up the trail, loose rocks clattering from our hooves, raining snow on the humans and tame horses below.

   The trail widened. Broadened. Formed a wide platform big enough for more than a dozen horses, with space to move freely about. But it didn't stop there. The trail led on, zigzagged upwards. Straight up. And branching from it were other trails. A maze of trails. The rock wall rose up even higher over our heads. Leagues and leagues high. But this was considered _low_ when compared to that other rock wall, the one we would be on now if we had taken the left hand fork. Here and there, rocky outcrops jutted out towards space, some wide enough for two horses, others foal-size.

   I paused, panting, eyes flying.

   _Where do we go_?

   "Hi YaH!!" A rider and his horse tried to jump onto the platform. The horse was scrabbling with its hooves, and falling. We rushed over to the edge just in time to see the horse sliding, slipping down the incline.

   They backed up against the canyon wall. The rider kicked his horse forward and it shot across the canyon floor and up the wall.

   The human wanted to do this the quick way. He didn't want to use the trails.

   We were supposed to be running for our lives already, fleeing by the trails to the open mesa beyond. 

   But we were just standing there, eyes locked on the horse as it struggled up, slide down, again. And again. And again.

   It didn't have the momentum to do it.

   The rider turned his horse aside and motioned to one of the others, who rode a taller horse with longer legs.

   We watched as this horse backed up and ran. 

   We were sure this one would fail too, like the other one. But just in case, we backed away.

   For a moment, the edge shielded them from view. We waited tensely.

   "AHH HAHH!!!"

   Moon let out a shrill neigh of terror. The horse and rider looked black against the sky as they soared over and landed squarely on the platform. The horse reared.

   That unfroze us.

   "That one!" I didn't care which trail to take. I didn't care which way to go. 

   I just wanted to get away from the humans.

   I raced up the nearest trail.

   "Where are we going?"

   "I don't know; just follow me!"

   "What–"

   "_Trust me! Just follow_!"

   This trail had spiky bushes growing along it's side. 

   And now, those bushes tore at my face, snagged in my mane and long coat, looking particularly like huge, long-fingernail-ed human hands grabbing hold of us and dragging us back.

   I glanced back once. There were now two riders and horses behind Moon and me. 

   I didn't want to get caught. _Faster_!

   I didn't want to go back to captivity. _FASTER_!!

   We ran blindly. They won't catch us. They wouldn't…

   Once again, like on the track, everything became blurs of color. Once again, the wind roared in my ears. 

   _FASTER_!!!!

   Somewhere behind me, a horse screamed. Whether in rage or pain, I do not know.

   Maybe one of them was falling! Maybe one of those horses and riders had slipped and was falling below.

   That gave me new energy, and with it new speed.

   The last obstacle to the top: a particularly thick roll of rock that defied footage. It jutted out defiantly, daring me to set foot on it.

   I put down my head and shot towards the thick roll. My hindquarters pushed against solid rock and I soared.

   "_Yes_!" 

   I landed lightly on the mesa, on my toes, just as I had been taught and turned, waiting…expecting.

   "You can do it!"

   Hoofbeats. Moon must be coming now. She was fast. She was strong.

   If I could jump, she could too.

   I closed my eyes, imagining me and her running away on the mesa, laughing, leaving the humans far behind. I imagined going _home_…

   But she had been right behind me.

   So what was taking her so long?

   "_You can do it! I did!"_

   My voice didn't echo around here. The wind swirled and carried it away over the vast mesa. Instead, it sounded small…lost…

   Then, human voices. And the hoofbeats stopped coming closer.

   And instead, started getting fainter, as if the horse was going _away_…

   Away?! Did that mean they just gave up, because they thought it was too hard?

   Somewhere below, the horse who had screamed, screamed again. The sound echoed around and around the canyon, until it sounded like a hundred other horses were screaming.

   It didn't sound like a scream of fright. It sounded like a scream of rage.

   Anger. Frustration. _Hopelessness_.

   Maybe one of those horses tried to jump up and couldn't.

   They weren't coming closer. I crept to the edge, blood pounding.

   My nose went just over the tip.

   And I stopped breathing.

   They were on the platform. _All_ of them.

   Moon was kicking and bucking.

   And there was a rope around her neck.

A/N: Please R (you just did:) & R(hope this one will become past tense!)!!


	22. Him

Disclaimer: I don't own any horses (any real ones; too poor to do it, though I'd very much loved to) or the copyrights of any books, which means...ta da! (Well yeah, you've already guessed what I was going to say...oh well...I'll say it again...)  
I Don't Own The Black... (Maybe they should just make a sign saying "PROPERTY OF WALTER AND STEVEN FARLEY!" and stick it on the Black, for the writers who forget their disclaimers...like me! sometimes... Just joking...)  
  
Chapter 21  
  
I stood on that cliff edge for hours, not knowing what to do, just feeling the despair washing over me in waves.  
I'd gotten us this far, and now, I'd gotten her caught.  
I had failed.  
Worse of all, I'd let her down.  
Moon was standing on that platform below, tethered to a post, and it was all my fault.  
All this way, and now for nothing. Wasted.  
My Fault!  
MY FAULT!!  
The word echoed around my mind, reminding me of what I wanted to forget.  
The sky darkened and I stood there, not moving. The stars came out and I just stood there, not moving. The humans made their fires and pitched tents and laughed and joked among themselves and I stood there, doing nothing.  
A bitter, metallic taste filled my mouth. I grounded my teeth together, giving way to the rising rage and guilt, and promised them I wouldn't let them get away with it.  
All night, I stood there. Finally, when dawn came and the day broke, I moved away from that spot, going along the top, peering back every now and then.  
I would have to do what I had in mind fast. Now that the humans had her, there was no reason for them not to pack up and just go away.  
And I would never see Moon again.  
Because I'd sworn not to go back. I'd sworn to myself that once I got away I would never let myself be captured again.  
I'd go back home free. Or die trying.  
The humans could go either way: back west, until they were out of the canyons, which was the shorter way, but the harder one.  
Or they could follow this canyon, which would eventually lead them to Fleetfoot's meadow. The longer way, but the easier one, since once they got to the meadow, they could go south on level ground, not on rocks...  
So, I had to stop them.  
I backtracked. Retraced this canyon back East, back to the fork where we had gone right, and back, way back, until I found Spanning Bridge, which turned out to be nearer than I thought. We'd just missed a turn.  
Oh if we hadn't missed that turn...  
My throat closed at the thought of it. If we hadn't missed that turn, Moon wouldn't have been caught, and we would have been home by now.  
All the carefully made plans, all those nights spent talking and arranging, everything we built it on had collapsed.  
Sunrise. I stood at my end of the Spanning Bridge and gazed out over the canyons. Left and right, the canyon stretched away. Somewhere to my right, were Moon and the humans. To my left, I caught the barest glimpse of the high rock walls ending, and a vast open plain beginning.  
Straight ahead was a mound of snow piled up on the Bridge. It rose high, up to my chest, the whole shining arch of it.  
Dozens of tons of frozen water. Somehow, I had to get those chunks of ice down below.  
I stepped out on the bridge. My hoofbeats were muffled by the thick snow, snow that had melted by day and frozen by night over and over and over again until it was a whole, hard, shining solid mass of white.  
Small puffs of snow rose with every hoof I set down. Fresh snow. Snow that had fallen last night.  
I glanced up at the sky. Tonight, it would snow more. It would snow a lot.  
Tonight, there would be a snowstorm.  
The wind nipped my ears and nose as it came and blew, howling, along the canyons. Freezing. Biting. Bitter cold.  
I reached the middle of the bridge and stopped. Another possibility had occurred to me.  
I could go home! They didn't have me, probably didn't want to catch me anyway. I could just walk away and leave them there, forget about the whole human world.  
Leave everything behind. The meadow was within a day's distance. If I hurried, I could still get there before sunset.  
Live my life the way I want to. Not have to fear human pursuit. Gather a herd without fearing their safety, as I know I would have to fear if Moon came with me, because coming along with her would be the humans trying to get her back. A constant plague to the foals. The herd in danger.  
The idea sounded appealing.  
Then I glanced back and knew I couldn't do it. Couldn't leave her behind, couldn't just walk away.  
I turned my nose to the East, and began thinking of how I could get the snow rolling.  
I couldn't just shove the snow off. It would take too long.  
An avalanche. I needed an avalanche. Something that caused an avalanche, maybe.  
I closed my eyes and thought back to when we were foals. Mother and Golden used to tell us stories of long treks past snow-heaped ridges, where everybody had to be quiet or there would be an avalanche.  
Quiet was safe. Noisy caused avalanches.  
Noisy. Noise. Sound.  
Yes, that was it. Something loud enough o get an avalanche, yet not conspicuous enough to get the humans running this way.  
I whinnied long and loud.  
The echoes bounced back. And bounced some more.  
My ears were ringing by the time it was quiet again.  
Nothing.  
I filled my lungs and whinnied again.  
Nothing.  
And drat! I couldn't risk rearing for fear of slipping down. Too bad.  
That was another thing: the vibration. No running when near avalanche zones, unless you want to get buried alive.  
I glanced down to the base of the Spanning Bridge.  
Even though the top was wide, the space below the arch was smaller, because the sides/pillars/whatever you call them–supports?–were thicker.  
Hmm.  
Then again, the vibration idea might work.  
I clopped down to the canyon floor.  
And reared. And brought my hoofs crashing down on the thick walls.  
Again. And again. And again.  
That day, the stone canyon walls took a pounding they would never forget. Probably because nobody else did, or would ever do it again.  
After a few times, my hooves were getting sore. I backed up, charged, and threw my shoulder against it instead.  
I'd just backed up for the umpteenth time, ready to give up if this didn't work, ready to try one last time, when I paused.  
Snow-dust was rising up around me.  
An earthquake? But the ground wasn't shaking.  
Must be the wind then, or maybe just my hooves. I shrugged it off and charged.  
The rocky base grew bigger steadily. I lowered my head, closed my eyes, and hit it with my shoulder.  
Wham!  
Nothing.  
I sighed and leaned against the rocky wall, the arch overhead casting me in shadow.  
So this wasn't going to work. What was?  
Wait. The snow dust was still there. Only now, it wasn't coming only from the ground, it was coming from above.  
Above ?!?!  
I glanced up and felt my eyes go wide.  
Whinnying hadn't worked. Hitting the rock had.  
In fact, hitting the rock walls worked good. Too good.  
"Whoa..."  
Hundreds of tons of rock-hard ice and snow seemed to fall in slow motion in a waterfall of icy death.  
For a split second, I was frozen in place. Then, a voice inside my head screamed, "What are you standing there for? RUN!!"  
I jerked back to life and plunged straight into a curtain of snow.  
Run!!  
Clumps of ice were hitting me, and I got what I called a snow-shower.  
For a moment, all I saw was white. Then, I burst through the curtain and began running for my life.  
The avalanche caught up with me in a few steps. It threw seemingly boulders of ice against my legs. My feet were knocked out from under me.  
I fell.  
The roaring didn't last long. In fact, a few seconds after I went down, everything was quiet again.  
And now I had to get out.  
Getting out was hard. I was almost lying on my side–which meant I couldn't kick my way free. Banging my head on the icy ceiling was a good option, but I wasn't too keen to try it.  
In the end, I tried standing straight up–which worked pretty well, not counting the straining and heaving I did, and the bruises I got.  
By the time I got up, I was shaking. And also looking like I was a snow magnet.  
But it had worked.  
I stood back and surveyed the place. Nice work. Maybe I could come back here and do that every year.  
Stepped backward and heard a crunch. Looked down, and jumped aside immediately.  
I'd stepped on a bone–or what appeared to be one. The rest of the skeleton showed up when I brushed away the snow with my hoof, and confirmed my guess–it was a horse skeleton. One of the skeletons I'd been telling Moon about.  
And it was a small one–a foal's.  
For a moment, I felt a wave of pity. Such a young horse with so much ahead of him/her, and possibly a good long life gone just because it had lost its' footing.  
There could be more skeletons nearby. I covered it with snow again, bowed my head, and left.  
Now the humans couldn't get away. I felt triumph.  
Which meant we couldn't get away too.  
Oops.  
I hadn't thought of that before.  
What if I did manage to get Moon? Which would prove to be a miracle.  
But what if I did? Then we would have to go by the way of the mesas. Not straight ahead.  
Which reduced the chances of getting away quick and increased the risk of being cornered and caught.  
But I couldn't do anything about it now.  
So, I started back to the humans.  
  
By midnight, I was back the fires the humans made, glowing like beacons in the darkness to guide me. Only now, the platform was empty, and everybody – humans and horses – were down on the canyon floor.  
Probably preparing for a easy getaway tomorrow. I seethed inside.  
If they did manage to get away tomorrow, it wouldn't be easy. I would make sure of that.  
  
I didn't go back to my perch high above them, where the fires were tiny smudges of light and Moon was but a pale shadow, but slunk around their camp instead, hiding in the shadows, slipping unseen, around and around and around their camp.  
The humans slept in triangular fabric houses on steel sticks and poles. They made their fires in front. The horses were tied to a long horizontal post nailed to the ground. I heard the clinking of chains.  
Moon was standing apart from all the others, tied to her own lone post, which stood upright a nice distance away. She was the only horse who wasn't wearing a blanket.  
I waited till almost all the fires were out and the humans were asleep. Then I stepped light-footed through the snow, threading my way noiselessly in Moon's direction.  
She'd been dozing. I whuffed in her ear and rubbed my nose against her shoulder. A long shudder ran through her body, making her mane and tail ripple silver in the quiet moonlight. Her eyes were half closed.  
"Moon?"  
Was she awake? I stepped back. It would be absolutely great if she woke up eyeball-to-eyeball with me, then woke up everybody else with her whinnies of surprise.  
Her head nodded, her forelock falling over her eyes.  
"I'm dreaming right? Yeah, I'm dreaming that I'm standing here tied to a post and that Spirit is standing before me and–yeowch!"  
I'd just given her a sharp nip.  
Her eyes sprang open. "You," she whispered.  
I grinned. "Yeah, me."  
"I thought I was never going to see you again!"  
I rubbed cheeks with her. "What else do you expect from someone who gets you caught? And anyway, my conscience wouldn't have let me gotten away with it."  
Someone stirred. We both stopped and glanced in the humans' direction. Immediately, Moon's teasing tone died down.  
My relieved, half-joking spirit died down too.  
I stepped back. "What do you know about them?"  
"There are five humans. Four males, one female."  
One female...that was...strange, I suppose...  
"They have six horses and enough food and clothing to last them a long time. They really plan on getting you and me."  
I ran the information past my mind. The last bit caught on.  
"You and me?"  
She nodded.  
"Why?" It made no sense whatsoever. The part about them wanting to catch me too. I mean, of course, everybody would understand why they wanted Moon back; that was the reason they'd set out in the first place. But ME? Why me? To them, I was a perfectly strange horse, unless they knew I was also an escapee, of which the chances of them knowing are really slim. As in, negative zero percent, if there is such a thing. To the humans, maybe it looked like Moon had somehow gotten out of her paddock, and met up with me. I was just the horse who was traveling with her, not her former track-mate, not even a tame horse. They probably assumed I was just some young wild stallion reckless and ambitious enough to steal her away from her human owners. And they couldn't have thought of me as a racehorse, and certainly not the fastest horse in the world.  
She shrugged. "All I know is, they're not even planning on leaving unless they get you too."  
Uh huh. Okay...that would change everything...  
"That's...strange...but you see anything else?"  
"They're riding Quarter horses." She jerked her head toward the sleepers. "Spirit, there's something you should know about Quarter Horses. I've heard this from a few others, but Quarter Horses are strong, tough, and used to this kind of terrain. They're also fast. Very fast. They say," she hesitated, then went on in a disbelieving voice. "They say that some of the fastest Quarter Horses can outrun even a Thoroughbred."  
I opened my mouth.  
"But only for a quarter of a mile, which is how they got their name," she added hastily.  
I was still having trouble digesting that Quarter Horses could outrun Thoroughbreds. "Wait 'til Steele hears that."  
"And," Moon added, "these have been fed on oats. They would run...better...than we would normally do..."  
My teeth clacked together. I let out a sigh. "Okay...I mean...wow...umm..."  
Food wasn't the only question. "What about the humans? Are they...healthy? Cold? Strong? Good riders? Good with ropes?"  
"Most of them have been riding all their lives."  
"What about the horses? Are they...skittish? Easily spooked? Cougar- phobics?"  
"Spirit, they're not going to get frightened that easily. I heard them talking about how those horses could be ridden right into a crowd of humans and they wouldn't even raise a hoof in protest. They're quiet, docile...do everything they're told to."  
Talk about calm...  
I glanced over my shoulder. Still dark. If we hurried, I could get her away, and we could make it up the mesa.  
"How far can you go?"  
She backed away and cantered in a circle, the rope between her and the post taut. "That much."  
I leaned over and sank my teeth into the rope. Spat it out immediately.  
"It's plastic. You can't bite through it. I've tried biting it myself"  
But that wasn't the problem. The problem was that there had been a taste, a lingering smell of human. It had been familiar.  
And worse, I couldn't remember where I had smelled it before.  
The taste was still in my mouth. I scooped out a mouthful of snow and spat out again, rinsing away the slick, oily, foul smell.  
Watching me, Moon came closer.  
"Spirit. There's something else you should know."  
I raised my head. Our noses were inches from each other's.  
"He's here, Spirit."  
"Who's here?"  
"Him. Sims." 


	23. Goodbyes and Farewells

Disclaimer: "Me-e no own-ee dee Black-kuh." Which is how some Chinese say it.

A/N: 'Elo ppl! It's been a long time…'ope ya enjoy, and please R&R!!

Chapter 22

   "_What_?! Are you sure?"

   Moon nodded solemnly. "Dead sure. He came over, you see. He was the one who caught me, and he tied me to the post. He's their leader." She jerked her head towards the tents, silver mane flying. "His nephew's here too."

   My mouth was dry, but I had to know.

   "Do they know about me?"

   Moon shook her head. "No. Not yet, anyway. But they're guessing…and…Spirit …they suspect you are who you are."

   I managed one word. "_How_?"

   "Well…one thing…there's the way you look…and your size and color–dun is a very rare color…and…there's the way you run."

   "What way?" What difference did it make, which way I ran? I mean, _all_ horses run…

   "Look at the way _I_ ran. We run with our weight back, using our hind legs to push us forward. It's the proper way of running. Looks nicer, see. Untrained horses, or horses that haven't been taught to run the right way often run with their front hooves, their weight forward." She attempted to demonstrate. I stopped her. Our pounding hooves probably hadn't woken the humans, since the thick snow muffled the hoofbeats, but I could see one of the Quarter horses fidgeting.

   "Shh." I nudged her, jerked my head towards the Quarter horses, and nodded, backing away.

   "Have you tried talking to them?" My voice was a whisper.

   "No. I haven't been close enough to do so."

   An idea had entered my head, one that came from Mother. When she escaped, she'd talked three other horses into escaping with her. Those three had gotten caught later, but then that didn't matter anymore, because Mother had still gotten away.

   If she could convince three proud headstrong Thoroughbreds to run away with her, I was sure I could do the same thing with six quiet Quarter Horses.

   "Hey." I moved close to one of them, a red roan mare. 

   "Shh. Hey, wake up!" My nose touched her neck. She raised her head sleepily.

   "Hello, hi…" Her eyes were sill half shut. The brown gelding next to her threw up his head and let out a dreamy snort.

   I chanced a nip. The mare's eyes flew open. They flew to Moon, then came back to me. 

   "Umm…" Now that I was here, what was I supposed to say?

   Whatever it was, this mare seemed frozen in terror, or surprise, I don't know.

   I gave up and ambled over to the brown gelding. 

   "Wake up! Sir?" 

   He just turned away, or as far as the rope would let him.

   I moved down the line, waking them with nudges or nips. The last horse, a light gray mare, was tied nearest to the tents, and for an instant, I hesitated. Leery about going closer to the humans, I rocked back and forth before going back along the line, wishing someone would come to their senses.

   Finally. Three horses' heads were up. I whuffed in their faces and watched their eyes spring open.

   And close the next instant. 

   How ever did these horses wake up? 

   "Try hitting them," Moon called.

   Okay…hit them…but which? I went around to the still-petrified roan mare and threw my shoulder against hers.

   I'd expected her to jerk awake, maybe, or jump and say, "Hey what are you doing?"

   I certainly hadn't expected what she did next.

   The roan mare quivered and fell against the horse next to her, the brown gelding. _He_ bumped her back, snorting angrily, only in doing that, his hindquarters hit the next horse. I watched as the movement swept down the entire line of horses, somehow like dominoes. Watched as the horse next to the light gray mare swung out his hindquarters to kick an imaginary enemy (his neighbor had whacked his head on the horse's) and hit her.

   The moment the horse's hooves touched the light gray mare, she jumped a foot in the air and let out a piercing shriek of pain. Then she turned on the horse who had kicked her and sank her teeth in his neck.

   That horse twisted and turned and tried to get his teeth in _her_ neck, only the light gray mare wouldn't let go. 

   I stayed to watch only that part, then bolted for cover as tent flaps were zipped open and the humans stumbled out. They immediately ran over to the horses, quieting them, while others bent down and examined my tracks leading to and from the horses and Moon.

   Miraculously, they didn't follow me.

   I caught Moon's eye and mouthed, "I'll be back."

   She nodded and I slipped off.

   That night, I was back. Only this time, instead of going into their tents, the humans made a huge fire and sat around it. 

   They were waiting for me.

   This time, Moon was tied even further away from them, as though they hoped that by doing that, I would be bolder.

   I waited.

   They waited.

   I waited some more.

   I waited till they were curled up on the ground, wrapped in blankets, the fire smoldering under the snow that was falling heavily again, before going closer.

   This time, Moon smelled me, knew I was there.

   We talked in low whispers, her eyes fixed on the sleeping humans, mine on the sleeping Quarter Horses, me tense and nervous and ready to bolt if there was any movement.

   "Spirit, we've got to go _now_. _Tonight_."

   "Why?"

   "Tomorrow, half of them are staying, and the other half are taking me back. I heard them talking a little while ago. Sims and another human, his nephew I think, they're not planning on leaving unless you're caught too. The other three humans…" She trailed off.

   "Bad setback." I shook my head. "There's nothing we can do." I glanced at the horses. Humans asleep were harmless humans, because they are sound sleepers (sounder sleepers than horses anyway). But those horses…one whiff of my scent and they would…I wasn't sure what they would do, but I could guess it would be nasty.

   "Can you pull the rope taut? I know, I know, I can't bite through it, but I still have to try."  

   She walked to the end of it, leaned back, and held it steady with her weight. I began hacking at it with my teeth.

   Just clomping down and pulling didn't seem to work, so I set to grinding it.

   No luck.

   I dropped it (still taut), put a hoof on it, and pressed, hoping it would snap.

   No luck either.

   So, I made for the post and began fiddling with the knots with my teeth.

   Tough rope. Tough post.

   I went back to sawing.

   Half of the night must have gone by, and only half the rope was cut through. It began snowing harder. The wind came, stronger than ever, driving snowflakes against our bodies and legs, threatening to blow us over. I could barely see the human tents, and the fire had gone out long ago. Moon was a slip of a shadow, nearly invisible.

   The snow was piling up all around us, halfway up to my knees already.

   Was it my imagination, or were there dark shapes stumbling to and fro? 

   "Spirit." The rope went slack as Moon fought her way over. "Spirit, they've gone back to their tents. They're sitting there, tent flaps partly open, watching, but I don't think they've seen you yet."

   So the humans were up.

   I nodded, she backed away, and I started again. 

   Then, the wind changed direction. It was now blowing toward the horses, against my back.

   They would wake up in an instant. I worked faster.

   One of them (I don't know which) tossed his/her head.

   Stupid rope. Only a few tough strands were left.

   It was snowing harder than ever. I couldn't see Moon anymore, though I could guess where she was by the direction of the rope.

   "Hold on," I called blindly.

   The plastic was cutting into my tongue, chafing against the corners of my mouth.

   I didn't see the human until she was almost standing before me.

   Then, I let go of the rope. 

   We faced each other, me, squinting, the human female frozen upright.

   Out of the darkness, Moon's voice came, frantic. "_What are you doing? Run_!"

   I turned, but before I could take a step, someone called. 

   "Spirit?"

   And I stopped.

   That voice. It was familiar.

   Very familiar.

   It brought to mind apples and sugar and carrots and laughter.

   It brought to mind a human girl. 

   Chaya.

   _Chaya_?!?   

   What was she doing here?

   Forgetting everything else, I ambled forward, disbelieving.

   It really _was_ her.

   Relief washing over in waves, I put my head over her shoulder, the way I used to. 

   "Hey boy!" She rubbed my neck with one hand.

   And then I saw the rope in her other hand.

   And I knew.

   One step, two steps. I kept stepping backwards.

   No. No way.

   Chaya was my friend, wasn't she? She wouldn't throw that thing around my neck, would she?

   She wouldn't catch me, bring me back, take me away from here.

   She would have wanted me to be free. 

   She wouldn't. Chaya wouldn't. Chaya would let me go. Chaya would turn around and walk back and she would let me go…_would_ _she_?

   "Spirit…" Her voice broke. She was biting her lip.

   Her free hand crept into her pocket. Out came a knife. For a moment, she glanced between the two–rope…and knife.

   And she hesitated. I could just see the battle in her mind – on one hand, Spirit, her horse, and his freedom, and on the other hand, Sims, and his order. And the rope.

   _Come_ _on_… 

   I saw her come forward, saw her raise the rope, saw her widen the noose.

   _Move_ _feet_, _move_! Only this time, I was frozen in place, appalled, uncomprehending.

   She was going to do it then. Catch me. Tie me up.

   The rope dropped over my neck. I closed my eyes and sighed, expecting to be led away, expecting to be tied to a post.

   Expecting to be _taken_.

   Sadness washing over in waves. A heaviness. Something that I couldn't describe. Remorse. Regret. I shouldn't have trusted her after all.

   And I thought I could. I _had_.

   Except that nothing happened to me.

   I opened my eyes.

   The rope was still hanging loosely around my neck. So loose in fact, I could still slip my head through.

   And Chaya was on her knees, hacking away at Moon's rope with her knife, my rope trailing on the ground.

   I watched, unbelievingly, feeling an inexplicable joy, a lightness.

   Chaya _is_ my friend after all! This could have cost her her job, but she was doing it because she wanted to…

   "I got him!" she yelled, then reached over and gave my rope two jerks.

   Suddenly, I understood. She was going to make it look like she had caught me, only Moon and I had both gotten away. That way, she wouldn't take the blame and we could still go free. That was why my noose had been left hanging almost to my knees.

   So, I did my part. Rearing and whinnying shrilly, I attacked the post, buying Chaya time as she worked frantically to get the job done. 

   I kicked. 

   I whirled.

   I bucked.

   I threw my shoulder against it. I ran to the lengths of the rope and strained, making it look like I was going berserk.   

   The, when Moon pulled free, I jumped backwards, head lowered, felt the rope slide onto my neck and catch against my ears.

   One toss of the head and I was free.

   Chaya raised a hand and slapped Moon on the flank. 

   Moon bolted. I bolted. And as we ran, I glanced back. 

   Chaya was running back toward camp, waving her arms, yelling, "Oh no! They got loose!"

   _Thank_ _you_, I told her silently.

   We ran, Moon's head held sideways so as not to trip on the trailing rope. And when we'd rounded the corner, we heard the hooves.

   They were coming after us, only this time, we would get away.

   I grinned at Moon. She grinned back. We poured on speed.

   It was exhilarating, until I suddenly realized we were going the wrong way.

   We were going back the way I came last night. Up ahead, was Dead Horse Canyon and the Spanning Bridge. With the mound of snow underneath, blocking our way.

   "Oh no."

   Moon glanced at me. "Don't tell me we're lost again."

   "No…it's just…up ahead, there's a–"

   "–dead end," she supplied. And sighed.

   I veered off right and stopped, against the canyon wall.

   "Hey wait! Where are you going?" She pulled up opposite me, on the left canyon wall.

   "We wait for–"panting, I jerked my head back at the approaching humans.. "Then, when they're past, we go _that_ way…" 

   "Okay…"

   We waited. Until we saw that they were riding in a line, straight across the gorge.

   "Bad setback." I dove out of my hiding place and began running towards the humans, Moon hot on my heels.

   "Do you realize that that's the second time you've said that tonight?"

   I nodded, breathless, not caring.

   As we approached, I could see the shock in three of their faces, and glee on one. They had expected us to run _away_ from them, not _at_ them.

   The horses' eyes widened. We swept by, through the line of stunned humans and horses, looking back as they recovered and spurred on their mounts, Chaya still grinning from ear to ear.

   I looked back and counted one, two three…four?

   Where was the fifth human?

   I counted again.

   Four…

   "SPIRIT!!" Moon screamed. I turned my head and saw something nearly on top of me, something that loomed huge and blackened the sky. The last rider!

   Desperate, I veered left, towards Moon. 

   Too late! Horse and rider leapt down from the ledge and crashed down on me. 

   I fell.

   Moon paused. "Keep running!" I yelled.

   Somehow, I fought free of the tangle of ropes and legs and bodies.

   Only to find that it was only the horse, and that the rider was up on the other horse, the extra horse they'd brought. And he was bearing down on me, lasso in hand.

   Ahhh!!

   I was up on my feet and running. The other three horsemen closed in around me, driving me towards somewhere.

   Where? 

   And then I saw the beginning of the trails that led up to the platform where Moon had been caught. I saw their camp.

   They were planning on cornering us at the top.

   "Moon!" I came to run beside her. Together, side by side, we swept up the tiny footpaths, me in the back.

   The platform! 

   "That way!"

   I didn't know where we were going. All I knew was that up was good, because up led to the mesas. 

   And this was up.

   "I know. Don't tell me: we're lost again."

   "Right-o. Listen to me: you know the trail we were taking when you got caught? When this trail branches, take the right hand side and it'll lead to that trail. Just follow it to the top. Keep running and whatever you do, don't look back. When you reach the top, look for any kind of cover and wait for me there. If you hear screams, don't wait for me anymore, because it means I won't be coming."  

   Then, something hit me on the rump. 

   A rope! 

   "Faster!" she panted. We raced up the incline, laboring against gravity, panting for breath, muscles screaming, lungs burning, with one goal in mind: _get to the top_.

   Now, we were swinging our heads as we ran, hoping the ropes wouldn't hit their mark, hearing the lassoes whirling, feeling the fear.

   Suddenly, Moon disappeared. Up the right trail, I hope, although I wasn't exactly sure…

   I was alone now. They were after me–all five of them–and they'd forgotten about Moon because they wanted to catch me instead. So, I led them upwards, threading my way through obstacles, running so fast the wind was whistling in my ears, stinging my eyes, so fast that everything was a blur of color, confusing, misleading, just as everything was confusing and misleading in my mind.

   Getting Somewhere didn't matter now, because right now, all I was doing was running, hoping I would lose them before I got to the top, just running, just staying away from them, from their ropes. It was all suddenly very simple: keep running, stay free, stop running, get captured. Leading them somewhere wasn't important anymore; there was jut one trail anyway, and I couldn't go back.

   So I ran. And somewhere, when everything was blurs of color, I thought I saw something–a fleeting shape, a huge, black flowing something running along beside me–on air.

   Which really is impossible.

   And suddenly, I was stopping, stopping so fast my feet were skidding, sliding to a halt, stones crashing down from my hooves, because that was it–the trail had ended–out into open space.   

   Suddenly, my mind was clear; I knew where I was, I knew what I was doing, and what I must do, and everything became clear, if not in slow motion.

   I turned to look back. The horsemen were sitting on their horses, sitting with stunned shocked expressions on their faces, as I knew mine was too, because _he_ was there. 

   _Him_.

   The black stallion.

   _The_ black stallion.

   The one who had appeared in my paddock all those months ago and kicked Steele out of it, the one who was running beside me on the Belmont, and the one who was standing here now, feet braced, blocking the humans' way across the trail, saying silently with his eyes, _Stop_.

   But this time, I knew who he was. Or at least, I thought so.

   He stood there, mane and tail streaming, silent, regal, majestic, appearing whenever I'd needed him most, (which included _now_, when I needed help more than ever), and I knew he was the same and always will be, from the time when he rescued the red-headed boy from the sea, when he burned up the tracks and became the most famous horse in the world, when he sired numerous foals, and down, down through the years, always watching over us, just as he was now watching over _me_, the very last horse in the world through whose veins his blood ran…

   "The Black?" I whispered.

   The stallion flicked an ear back, but didn't move otherwise. The humans appeared to be in a spell, eyes fixed on his, frozen, not moving, just like I was, drinking in his proud head, flowing body, spellbound.

   "Hi-yahhh!!!"

   Apparently, not all the humans.

   A rope was thrown around my neck. I jerked out of my trance, neighing in terror as my feet were pulled out from under me and I crashed down heavily on the ledge, which I now remembered being called as the Dead Horse Rock (don't ask me why; it's of no relation to Dead Horse Canyon).

   For a moment, stars were dancing in front of my eyes, but I was scrambling up, and my head was clearing.

   "Hello boy."

   I went cold.

   _He_ was sitting on his horse there, holding the rope around my neck and another one around my left hind leg.

   "Fancy us meeting here… most unusual place for a reunion of old friends, don't you think?"

   Once again, I was swamped with Sims' loathsome smell–disgusting, revolting, nauseating, till I wanted to throw him clear off the ledge, only I knew one small movement and he would jerk the ropes and I would either: a) choke, or b) fall.

   I don't like either choice.

   And neither would you.

   He dismounted and his horse backed down to the trail, probably disliking dizzying heights.

   Carefully keeping an eye on Sims, I walked to the edge and peeked over.

   The cliff went on and on and on. Other cliffs rose beside it, though not so dizzyingly high. I craned my neck back and saw a wide stretch of open barren land behind us (or rather, below us) that would have been green in spring–the mesa.

   This place was so high, so dizzyingly high, that I didn't even want to think about falling, incase it should happen.

   "Here!"

   I was yanked back. The rope around my neck started to tighten. A white bandana was tied around my eyes–now all I could see were vague shadows and blurry outlines.

   Gritting my teeth, I lunged against the ropes–and pulled up short, gasping for the air that my burning lungs couldn't get.

   "That nice? Huh?"

   The rope was pulled tighter. Black dots began dancing around the edges of my vision. I gagged and choked.

   "Know what I want? You think I want you back…well that's right…and not quite right…"

   My knees were swaying. Mouth open, tongue lolling, I sank down. He sank with me.

   "I want more. I wanted to get your mother back. I wanted to get you back. Do YOU HEAR ME??!!!?!?!"

   His voice was echoing strangely. 

   "_I want my life back! I want to get back to training big-time! I want the honor and respect I used to command!!! And you know what? I don't have it! I don't have it all!!!"_ He laughed, head tilted back. I could remember dimly wondering if he had gone crazy.

   Maybe he had.

   "_Everything I've got, I poured into my work, and you took it away!!! You and your runaway of a mother…"_ The last few words, he was pounding the ground with his fist.

   Lying on my side, the rope started to slacken. I gulped in air.

   Sims continued ranting. "_But I've got you now…only you won't bring my life back…_"

   He really thought I could understand him!

   After a while, he quieted down. Carefully keeping the rope slack, I rose and started to make my way down the ledge, back to the trail where the black stallion was still keeping the horsemen petrified.

   "Oh no you don't!" Sims yelled.

   The next instant, he jumped on my back, and from then on, everything was a constant blur of color. Panicking, I did the only thing I could think of to get him off: I reared and flailed my forefeet. When I came down, I bucked. On the narrow ledge of Dead Horse Rock, I rolled on the ground.

   I fought. I went for Sims, tearing at his clothes, his arms, his hair–everything I could reach with my teeth. 

   Then I reared again.

   I stayed up as long as I could. Then, I did one stupid thing: I tried to buck while rearing. One hoof slipped and we went over backwards. I could remember neighing shrilly because I thought we were going over the cliff. I remember thrashing frantically, pawing the ground with my hooves.

    Everything was like that: flashes and blurs of color one moment, amazingly in slow motion the next.

   And then, suddenly, we were lying, me, on my side, with my head half-raised, him, dangling, only holding on with his hands.

   "Arrrghhhhh!!!!" He leapt like a cat and fastened on to my mane. We started sliding.

   He knew he was going down and he was going to bring me down with him!

   I paddled with my hooves, desperate for any traction. The ground was cold and hard, digging into my skin as Sims slid downwards, and pulled me to my doom with him. My neck was starting to hurt. He was actually hanging on by handfuls of my mane!!

   My head was level with the edge! My nose was actually hanging over!! I glanced down and felt my stomach drop.  

   "Wind…" Now it wasn't Sims the mad, revengeful, trainer. He was Sims, and ordinary man like all the rest, and I found that he wasn't invincible after all–that he was a human too–he had strengths, he had faults, and he could be afraid.

   For a moment, his mask was gone and I could see deep into his eyes, see what he could have become if not for the circumstances–an excellent, trainer, kind to his horses, who would have done the world a lot of good. If he had not been the man he was, and if I hadn't had a reason to hate him, to dislike him, if I had just been an ordinary racehorse _without_ mustang blood, I _might_ have bonded with him, and we might have become the greatest horse and trainer in all of track history. And for a moment, I found myself wondering what would have happened if my mother hadn't escaped.

   The next moment, the vulnerable look disappeared and the hatred returned. And I remembered something Mother had told me before: that no matter what the circumstances, you choose to be who you are right now. Everything is by choice–you choose to feel what you feel, choose to do what to do, choose to become what you become, so that what you are right now isn't anyone else's fault but yours.

   And I felt the dislike coming back, the mutual hatred washing away the pity, and this hate gave me strength.

   For a moment, we were eye to eye, our noses inches from each other's, then I gathered my strength and yanked free. 

   "Ahhhhhhh!!!!!" His voice was drawn out in a long wail. I looked over the edge and watched him falling downwards, taking handfuls of my mane with him.

   And breathed a sigh of relief. 

   I stood up on shaky legs, sure what had happened would be forever imprinted on my mind.

   He was a good trainer. Not a good man, but a good trainer.

   So, in spite of myself, I bowed my head.

   My hooves clacked hollowly as I clattered my way down from the edge, down, down back to the trail, still not believing I'd done what I did.

   The black stallion had turned his head and was watching me.

   Suddenly, I felt shy and intimidated all at once. I couldn't meet his steady gaze. 

   I stopped when I was beside him. 

   I owed him my life. So, I reached forward, touched his nose with mine, and

 told him silently, _Thank you_.

   Somehow, he understood.

   He was still watching me as I walked down the trail, away from the ledge, away from him, away from the humans, and down, down, down back to the platform, because I only knew my way to the mesa from the platform, and not from anywhere else.  

   Then, up, up up the right trail, up to the mesa and–

   "Wind!!" Chaya rubbed my nose, and beside her–!!

   Moon?!

   "Hey! I thought I told you to hide!!"

   She grinned, relieved to see me, then explained, "I heard the yelling. So sorry, I really was curious, so I stayed around.  And look!"

  She showed me her feet, shoe-free, and nodded to the pile of metal lying on the ground. "I can't believe how light it is!"

   "Wind?" Chaya scratched my ears. "You can understand me…can't you? Sims was always saying you could, but I didn't believe him…until now…" 

   Her voice was different. She was choking up, and trails of water were making their way down her face, just like they had when Sandstorm died.

   Chaya was crying. She threw her arms around my neck and buried her face in my shoulder, _her_ shoulders shaking.

   _Don't cry_, I wanted to tell her. _Don't cry for me, be happy for me_…

   "I who–what you are…"Her voice was muffled. "And I think they should never have taken you off the range in the first place…because you belong with _them_…now I understand why you were so wild, why you never were tamed…"

   She let go of me. Moon came around and put her head over Chaya's shoulder. "Bye…be a good filly…"

   My turn. I breathed in the scent of her, knowing this was probably the last time we would meet, that I might never see Chaya again.

   "I'll miss you guys…" She hugged us both.

   "Now you…" She was talking to me between sobs. "You take good care of her…and both of you…" She was talking to the two of us. "Stay mustangs forever…"

   Pounding hoofbeats made me raise my head. Chaya looked back too. "They're coming. Go!!"

   And then, we were running, going into a gallop, our hooves pounding on the ground as we ran away, away from the humans, away from _her_…

   I turned and watched as Chaya became steadily smaller and smaller, waving at us, until she was completely swallowed up by the now-distant cliffs.

   I faced forward and threw a buck for happiness.

   We were running as my father and mother had done all those years ago, running with our heads down low and our hooves pounding the ground; running with the wind in our faces, lifting our manes and tails.

    Going home.


	24. A New Life

Disclaimer: I don't own the Black.

A/N: I'm really, really, REALLY sorry for not updating for so long and I'm not making any more excuses(but in case you want to know: I went to China on a 50-day study tour, where all the computers are in Chinese :-)…

As always, arigato gozaymashta, xie xie for your support, and please read and review!!

Chapter 23

   Moon and I went north, towards the hidden valley. We clopped down from the high mesas and I showed her our old meadow. Then, we visited with Thunder and his fillies for a week or two, resting and regaining our strength and health (or, getting fat and lazy, as Moon called it, which was all we really did; sleep, eat, chat, run, sleep, eat, chat, run), who hadn't gone South for the winter.

   Two weeks later, we said our goodbyes, promised to come again soon, and then I was leading Moon up the slopes of Three Peak.

   I took her to every place I went before; we climbed the ledge and I showed her the view of all the Lowlands; we made our way through the winding mountain passes and trails, drank at cold mountain brooks, and just went anywhere we wanted.

   I didn't take her to Sunrise Valley (which was what I was calling Golden's little bowl-shaped valley) first; instead, we went over the rim of the Three Peak mountain ranges, down, down to the plains on the other side, wandering about for several weeks, checking out the place.

   I didn't take Moon to Sunrise Valley at first because I wanted to save it for last.

   Good things, beautiful things should always be left for the last.

   So, I waited, waited till spring was on it's way, waited till the timing was perfect. Then, I led her to the Ibex, showed her how to jump down from the Ram's Head, unto the shelf, showed her the tiny hidden trail that cut through the tall cliffs with the stumpy trees and spiky bushes growing along the way; we spent the night in the cave I'd stayed before, then, when I was sure of the day, I woke her up early. She followed me out the cave mouth, across the valley with her eyes closed(which was what I'd insisted on), up, up the waterfall on the other side till we stood over it.

   I waited till sunrise, when the sun spread it's rays all along the horizon, leaving the sky patches if color mixed with glorious color. Then I told her to open her eyes.

   Moon's gasp told me it had been worth it after all.

   "This is all yours?"

   "Everything. That was why I liked it so much–you get spectacular sunrises and sunsets." 

   "Everything here…"

   I grinned. She _did_ like it.

   As time passed, I slowly gathered a herd of six mares, going for quality rather than quantity. These mares were good mares, beautiful, yet with sharp minds, able to take care of themselves. Moon exhibited many qualities of an excellent lead mare–calm, following my instructions to the letter, able to command respect and obedience, yet not proud or arrogant or mean, able to see to the safety of the herd.

   Of course(after a bit of training,) she became lead mare!

   I kept my herd small; there would be foals next year, and I didn't want this beautiful little place to become over-populated.

   And Moon got to meet Golden at last; I introduced them one fine summer day when I was sure the other five mares were safe in the Valley; we sneaked south for a day.

   By mid-summer, the mares were all in foal. That autumn, I fought and won a meadow of our own down South, a place we could all migrate to when the weather got cold.

   If I said that we all lived happily ever after without any interference from humans, without renegade stallions trying to steal my mares, without cougars slinking around and hoping for a quick snack (and getting a "Go away! This is _not_ the canteen!" kick from said snack's protective mother), I would really be lying. In reality, we had to stay hidden in my little valley every summer, with Moon keeping an eye on the mares and foals while I scouted the surrounding mountains and plains for humans, going South with everybody else during winter. And the humans came often, now searching for what they called "the horses who ran free", which translates into Moon and me. Other times, the humans were just regular humans who came along every year to round up mustangs so the area wouldn't get over-populated.

   We learned later that when entire herds are caught, some of the horses are released back into the wild. The humans doing that were from someplace called the BLM, and they did it every year. We learned to show up at the same time the helicopters (whirly, twirly metal birds that can make you deaf) did, to put in an appearance then vanish into thin air, because if we didn't, the BLM humans would go chasing us all over the mountains on horseback for weeks on end, just to prove that we existed and our numbers weren't growing too fast, giving the mares headaches and the foals wonderful opportunities to exercise their legs.

   So, to keep things short, we show up once a year down in the Lowlands, say "Hi!" and "Bye!", then disappear for the rest of the year. 

   My foals turned out to be some of the fastest in the land. In the years after, they would come to be known as "horses who fly with the eagle and run with the wind." But one birth, one particular foal was specially looked forward to.

   Because it was Moon's foal.

   One spring night nearing dawn(our first spring, my second spring with Moon), when it wasn't quite summer yet and we were in Sunrise Valley, my eyes flew open for no reason at all. I lifted my head and automatically scanned the herd. So far, five foals had been born, and the day before, the oldest was already running and cavorting in the meadow, spinning and whirling and laughing as its' mother galloped after it, neighing frantically for it to return to her side. It wouldn't be long before it would have playmates who were bold enough to play.

   Yes, they were all here – one, two, three, four, five of them, foals dozing peacefully, curled up in the moonlight.

   No, wait. Five mares. Five smooth, sleek, mares. I counted again.

   _Five_ mares. But none of them with a pale, silver coat shining in the moonlight.

   Moon was missing.

   I felt fear and pushed it away. Moon was a strong mare, and as heavily in foal as she was, she would still be able to take care of herself.

   But it wasn't like her to just go away without telling someone first, unless it was something really urgent.

   The niggling fear remained. I took one last look at my sleeping herd and began my search.

   What could have gotten her? Certainly not humans.  Another stallion wouldn't have whisked her away without a challenge first.

   Not that any other stallion knew of this place.

   A cougar? A snake? But then, we would have heard her fighting. And she couldn't just disappear into thin air.

   I combed the valley; she wasn't there. So, I climbed to the top of the basin and began circling it with renewed urgency.

   It didn't take me long to find her. She was lying in a small clearing in the fringe  of trees beside the top of the waterfall, looking tired but happy, her pearly mane sticking to her neck.

   I moved forward and snuffled her face, puzzled, yet feeling intense relief.

   She looked up at me with half-closed dreamy eyes. "So sorry you had to come looking for me…we would have gone back by sunrise…"

   My long ragged mane bounced as I bobbed my head. "Just tell me first next time, okay? So we'll know–"

   Then, I caught the last phrase.

   "_We_?"

   _Whumph!_

   Something small and soft hit me round the ribs. I spun around and saw a tiny silver foal prancing away happily, fluffy tail frisking through the air. It backed up to the edge of the clearing and stood, boldly defiant, daring me to approach.

   I took a step closer, grin starting.

   My spirited daughter attempted a running leap–and flew head over heels, landing on the grass.

   I laughed, reminded of myself when I was her age, though she was much, much bolder, and much, much smaller.

   Moon started up, her amused expression changing to one of concern.

   I blocked her, still grinning. Obviously, she'd never seen a newborn foal before.

   "But she's–!"

   "She'll be fine," I nickered firmly. "Watch."

   The little foal had flipped itself the right way and was blowing hard through its nose. In a few seconds, it got up and began to shuffle forward–on its knees.

   We watched as the silver filly leapt to her feet and began to race around us in circles.

   "See?"

   Moon grinned in relief and rose to her feet. The little filly shot under our forelegs and began rubbing her head against Moon's ribs.

   I took a step back to examine her.

   She was small and delicate, and exquisite, from her sculpted head down to her tiny, dainty hooves; her coat a creamy silver, like Moon, only a shade lighter.

   A living likeness. A physical replica of her mother, and in some ways, even more beautiful.

   Yet I could see traces of me in her too. The high tail carriage. Her well-set neck.

   And more, more traits she had that neither of us possessed.

   Her deep, dark, beautiful eyes, eyes that could look into a horse's soul.

   Where did she get those eyes of hers?

   Those quick nimble hooves that were now dancing. The fire flaming and burning and running in her blood, and with it, the fierce desire to be independent.

   The fierce desire to stay free.

   This tiny little silver foal was going to show the world lots.

A/N: I know this is a short chapter–one half of previous short chapters–I promise there'll be a longer one coming next.

   Thank you for the time you took to read this story, and please don't forget to review!!


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